Silversmith of Dream

Written by: Anthony Slausen

Dreams frolic
  in the basket of the mind,
    like easter eggs on sunday grass,
       pastel hands for slowing time.
             A misty- trusting face,
               just beyond the frosted glass
                 a spirit mare with feiry mane
                  that licked the heart with lips aflame 
                      waved hello 
                      then 
                      blackhanded 
                      your naive face...into the frosted glass of
                        loneliness...
                     Good times coddled a lavender star
                  within a blackened space, 
                in place of friendly smiles without names...
               they taught you the art of
             forging then forgetting scars
               with a silly smile,
                   turned a room of bitter spirits into angels
                           and blueberry wine...
                                  slowly sliced their lives away. 

                               The golden armed drummer drums the songs of dream,
                            ice cream trucks and noon church bells
                          flow into the soul like rose petals on the wind...
                        strumming songs of love and hatred
                     like streams of bile and gilded rosary...

                     Everything is gone now, 
                      the flesh-the bone the bitter laughs
                        the metal of youth churned into the thinning cloth of age.
        
               Things meant to live and breathe, 
         will give the soul to the silversmith,
     rolling life into shimmering dreams.