Dream Note No. 9

Not much is left of this fuzzy film,
I had oft dived and explored her realm;
fate has brought your presence to me,
a dark lair where only the blind shall see.

The flowering fields we were to visit,
what thrills would this little trip bring;
for the sweetness of the colours so exquisite,
for the air in which your beauty would swing.

In those little quarters of twisted rooms,
where a month bears five hundred days;
your night gown must be from seraphic looms,
I dared not disturb your sweet slumber with a gaze.

Elegant awakening has your lightsome steps borne,
as you tell me that we’d see on the fifty-fifth;
for the end of three long days — my bourne,
in starless silence I weave with withes.

Yet as my shadow over the table hangs,
you come to rest by my weary form;
upon my silver service you call,
your soft contours ease my fervid storms.

Alas music is not merely silvery sounds,
for time forgives not a fearful heart,
who dares not to traverse the ghostly bounds,
where the world herself has her history marked.

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Published in: on 01/05/2018 at 12:30 PM  Leave a Comment  

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