The most palatable of dreams
are nightmare streams
stewing for years
in fear-filled tears.
They shine in the eyes of dreamers,
Seen in the light
brighter at night.
Harvesting is a painless chore.
No need for gore.
While they sleep
I silently reap.
It took me a moment to figure out why this is called Minute Poetry. I believe it’s because there are 60 syllables total and not that it should only take a minute to write.
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