My pockets are empty
Yet they are full of dreams.
No shillings or dollar notes,
Only heavy with ambition.
I put in a hand,
Stretch my fingers,
Reach into its depths,
Feeling the seams.
Making a fist deep inside,
Gingerly take it out,
And peer into the hole,
Of bent thumb and forefinger.
Unfolding my palm,
There’s nothing but air,
For dreams are intangible,
And they’re in my heart.
*Photo by Marcelo Chagas from Pexels
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