The Dream

Once in the dream of a night I stood
Lone in the light of a magical wood,
Soul-deep in visions that poppy-like sprang;
And spirits of Truth were the birds that sang,
And spirits of Love were the stars that glowed,
And spirits of Peace were the streams that flowed
In that magical wood in the land of sleep.

This is the land of that I weep.

This perplextion of life I shall never let go.

But there's something in side of me I feel you must know.

One can always sleep

But can one always dream?

When minutes slip away at last

as cloth closes seam

And makes a garment

The design is cast

And no altering of the piece

Can change the fact

The piece has been made

the dream has been cast

The solidifying then

and then

reality sets in.

I am the dream not the dreamer. Happy Birthday to Me!