The Dream


He’d dreamed

a future of wealth

and abundance:


a world of harmony,

where disease,

war and famine

were abolished.


It was filled

with people born

of perfect genes:


a race of beauty

and symmetry,

where malformation

did not exist.


He told me

I was not in the dream.


I was too Irish,

too Moorish,

too Kurdish,

too Yiddish.


My crooked leg

would make me beg.


I was too autistic,

too artistic,

too atheistic

too altruistic.


My feckless way

was not Ok.


I was too poor,

too weird,

too black,

too feared.


My point of view

would never do.


He’s come to kill me.



© Shackleton 2023
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An interesting read made all the better with the brevity, nice job, I like the ending too. Best Keith


I doubt this world will ever achieve what the dreamer hoped for, a sad reflection on the unfairness of life. Sue.

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