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The Amethyst Dream Catcher
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poems An amethyst dream catcher
Frantically shovelling the dirt
Was she Digging a grave?
The mud clinging to her skirt
Picked up the black bin bag
And threw it in with rigor
Lent down and picked up the gun
Gently she caressed the trigger
Returned to the clouds
All muddied and bruised
Hid that gun away
The one she had used?
They found that black bag
Only a few days had passed
It was full of bad dreams
That came out with a blast
So where did she find them?
Why did she have a pistol?
I have no answers for you
But the amethyst turned to crystal!
