Dreams are not legible

Poem on the Poor

When you first come here

You are in dire straits

You come to heal at the

Wellspring.

Us: we're dreaming the same

Hundreds of miles away or next to you

An animal sense of each other

A comforter.

You visit the old dreams to see

If you're doing right or wrong.

A rite of passage

a chuckle dream

The stream runs within

Comfort, guidance, warning

My mother, brother,

And sister.

Dreams are not legible

Like children they are

Unconstructed.

Make a

Wish at the

Wellspring.

Everyone dreams, but

Sometimes we shoot and miss.

Except for this

Where else would you consider

Who you are

And who you are not?

Mark

27 October 2015

Poem from The Homeless Library, the first history of British homelessness. Told through poems, interviews, artworks and handmade books. 

A documentary film about the project can be found here.