Dustin Pickering- A Poem

Whirling Dervishes

We dance like children
in poverty, happy and ne’er longing for more.

The force is continued in the small
of your hand:
life is a distant star,
a dream.

Nonchalantly, I wait for time
to pass,
but it is not soon enough.
Blind fools dance.

I cannot change
these lives of fantasy.
The cold river warms
until it changes hue.

Face the secret room
with no walls,
and yellowing wallpaper.
No actual existence.
No transcendence.