I watch the lantern flicker
as death comes to the light
from candle wax the smoke of dreams
fills up the waiting night
for empty is the darkness
until sweet fantasies
replace my waking daylight thoughts
with unfettered reveries.
dreams
À MOITIÉ MORT
in the half death
I had lines
profound rhymes
in the half death
in the half death
the world burned
my thoughts turned
in the half death
in the half death
monsters came
exposed my pain
in the half death
in the half death
my mind would break
and so i’d wake
from the half death
into half life.
The Final Sleep
these last dreams to death do yield
across sweet perfumed poppy fields
to Elysium’s truth are blessed
and in its wildflowers find their rest
yet do not mourn or sage flowers burn
for at the ending days still turn
and resurrect fresh reveries
of new last dreams the nights to ease.
Bones
the bones of my dreams
waste under the morning sun
turning into dust
Untitled
what use this nightly dreaming
if to its promise I wake not
what peace lies in sleep’s surrender
if in your arms I am not caught?
A Dream
her dream rode on a sleeping mist
of poppy dust upon the breeze
and in that cloud most sensuous
I let the dream take hold of me
and breathed deep of her reverie
to discover her intent
and in my thoughts our dreams entwined
to please them with the consequences
that should arise if dream became
palpable, not fantasy
the bounds imagined overcome
by tangible reality.
poetae somnia
inside the darkness shines a light
which overcomes the fearful nights
and monsters that abroad do dwell
in corners where the shadows swell
from doubts and fears the days instill,
the light of dreams evoke the will
to face what sombre moods may come
between the dusk and rising sun.
Sonnet On A Short Dream
a face engraved in sculpted whole
from photographs faded and torn
upon his shoulder seemed to form
and from this magic bore a soul
lips which held but silent words
laid as silver on the glass
opened and their kiss did pass
effortlessly the world disturbed
thus are dreams realities
within the confines of closed eyes
such reveries I dare surmise
are the birth of fantasy
for in my mind my love’s as true
as flesh desires I feel for you.
CUM MORTUIS IN LINGUA MORTUA
in dreams
I speak in tongues
guided not
by mania
nor incomprehensible
supernatural
forces,
the words
come from within
are already
perfectly formed
and understood
completely
by those
who have
travelled to these dreams
before me
and made of them
a home.
The Stream
is this wooden bridge my dream
or the silver stream it crossed
perhaps the watching trees in green
watch upon the sleeping lost
who wander down this way of mind
in night-time reveries a glow
for this dreamer seeks to find
that which ancient glades may know.
I wade into unconscious water
far beyond the reasoned world
now complete in slumbers caught
I let this babbling dream unfurl
and hope among my mind’s landscapes
the world of waking be forgot
for this reality of mindscapes
should true paradise allot.
