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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

The Chrysalis

I had a dream.
Half my life is made of dreams now.
I fluttered like a newly hatched
butterfly.
It was morning with tangerines,
the sun a sliced orange,
a tinge of mint and lemon
in the air.

An extraordinary place
inviting me to stay.
I wanted to rise in the clouds.
My legs wanted to travel
along old roads.
My eyes hungered for light
changing and dancing
on the horizon.

And then the dream disappeared
in a haze of smoke and explosions.
People shouted,
and what could be,
wanted to be,
was set aside
for the sake of destiny.
A new century,
born from the old,
a mirror for our faces
in the spilled oil of war with
no place for dreams.

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