I weave my way in slumber,
unsure of what I form,
sometimes it be a place of wonder,
and some, a wisp of what I shall not know
my dreams are oft a place of mist and shadow,
things I yearn to see, but cannot grasp
your light drifts down upon me,
bathes my conscience with a kind of blind effusion
that warms my soul and wakes me
leaves nary a thought for the wonderland I leave behind
I rise enamored of that rosy warmth that wakes me,
drawing me from the phantoms, so elusive in my sleep
and with a kiss of light,
return me to the day of life which is my own
In which I have no phantoms to chase but my own shadow
and the wonder that drives my existence
is only that of your pure-hearted devotion
and the miracle that is your joy in my life
and I drift once more into the slumber that pervades my nights
and I recall fondly the bouyant faith you have
in me, in life, in that which is beyond
the mists that sweep away my consciousness
hold a distinctly rosy glow that is not as dim as once it was
the phantoms of my dreams smile warmly as they jaunt away to begin the merry chase
sleep well and know I dream of you

02/02/2003

Posted on 02/03/2003
Copyright © 2024 Leandra K Brossard