* * * * *
Dreams,
A Poem Of The Guiding Purpose
Our dreams
Are an endowment from God.
Talent is dead without them
Knowledge is vain for their lack
Missing them turns wealth to want.
They whisper like a child specter
Leading through the night.
They are
Lovers laughing on the sand,
And
Children playing in the sun,
They are the only star
In the blackest sky,
They are the warming flame,
The songs the gypsy sings,
And spring's first robin's nest.
Our dreams are meant
To raise full sails,
And hold hammer,
And weld saber.
They are the inner companion,
From a war forged fellowship.
Our dreams must never sleep
Lest they waken like a dragon-
To find slumber made her mortal;
Whose last death roar asks,
"What were all those things
That I was meant to be
When I could have been me?"
(c) Adron 12/25/17
