Four Dreams

The empty places that I go
They tell me nothing every night;
I wander over oily fields
Of rancid rain and andesite

I search because in dreams I must;
I’m never sated, never find —
It’s emptiness, anxiety
And all my weakness, stark and
Underlined


The cemetery, in the shade,
Aside the narrow country road;
I hear the birds who mourning, sing,
Of love, and only
Love

I see your tombstone once again,
And words that I could never say
When you were here come to my lips
Of love, and only
Love


I’m on a lonely highway
Where I have been, many times,
And always, in the distance
I see fire

Sometimes the flames of rage they are,
Sometimes in celebration;
But always, in the distance
Like a pyre

When first I saw this, I was
Only fourteen, and in terror:
The flames were mushrooming and
Growing higher

Tonight the vision’s more benign,
But still the fire rages;
This place, a secret feeling
Amplifier


I dream about you in the night
The years we spent in passion
Have no way dimmed the
Ardor that
I feel

The vision comes in different forms,
But always – there is you –
It isn’t dirty, though tonight,
Well,
You are

Four Dreams (4)

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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