Dream Big You Said To Me by Mark McConville

Brit Grit, Mark McConville, Poetry, Punk Noir Magazine

Mark McConville

Dream Big You Said To Me.


You write with elegance

And dance through the hallway when the poetry flows

And astounds, and makes you quiver,

It’s your medication.


I observe you nailing unwanted notes

On a wall coloured in red

That’s where the rejection letters hang

It’s a shrine of war and blood, sweat and tears.


Some days you don’t wash

Other days you’re as high as a plane

Flurrying through the sky

And headed to a dreamland.


You drink your optimism away

From a glass the size of an enlarged heart

Power was your strength,

You now seem stuck in between

Normality and hazardous thoughts.


The city was your playground

You’re cooped up and writing plotlines

That aren’t structured or compelling

They’re mediocre.


Art has succumbed to procrastination

As you sit and scream annihilation

And your bones shake and your skin tightens

This is a breakdown.


You throw expensive vases at the walls

You cut yourself on splinters

Begging to sleep, praying to wake up a new writer,

Of engrossing fiction, of well-rounded characters,

And a queen of those allusive plot-lines.


And dream big you said to me

As I hung onto your coattails

When you drank to wash away the taste of failure


I’ve observed too much…