Cuddling Charmed Traces

. . . . * * * . . . . "I dreamt, I was a butterfly or was I, a butterfly dreaming . . ." *another time another place, where even dreams gently intrude, a place where silence breathes a voice,entrancing the heart of a man another hope, another choice, another contemplative charm, * * along a road a tree sways, chanting to each passing ear the words she touches but cannot see, the words erasing the fear, and though there’s still a strain, that somehow just won’t go away * fascinating thoughts affirm that faith grows stronger by the day~ ~ ~they sit there talking side by side, so many tunes in their rhyme no place for anything to hide, transparent is the hood of time, his voice cuddling traces of before, a sacred place of long ago * another sanctum, another key, a space that they still have to know, and as they hum of when and where, a voice calls softly from behind like delightful music of the breeze, that feels so heavenly designed, * then suddenly the night drips gold, as the necklace floats into sea and just before he leaves, he tells that all their dreams would come to be. ~ ~ all rights reserved © . . . . . . For Constance: Daydreams, dreams and dreams Contest From: nette onclaud 10 Jul 11