Love's Lost and Found
Strange is this land that I’ve entered,
Yet maybe I’ve been here before,
Magical artist of nightfall
Paints fingers that tap on my door.
Somehow I feel strangely centered
Both ready for fight or for flight,
Drawn still to vision, sweet landfall,
No claim I have special insight.
Music of night that I’m hearing
Warns softly of dangers ahead,
Knowing that my heart is waiting
Love sweetly just slips into bed.
Ramifications I’m fearing,
All vanish like dew in this land,
Love’s rose has cousins worth courting
Emotions here are never bland.
Dream’s length can never be certain,
Don’t worry there’s never a plan,
Timetable that one must stick to,
And no one to please in your clan.
Catholic guilt’s final curtain,
And Baptist restraint a mere joke,
Mormon pretense a new milieu,
God’s heaven served up to plain folk.
Let’s lift our glass to flight’s fancy
To dreams that will never touch ground,
Dance now and howl like a dervish
And spin like a merry-go-round.
One need not serve necromancy
To value the magic in dreams,
Puritans, no longer slavish,
Rejoice in the breadth of love’s themes.
Brian Johnston
Sept. 10, 2014
Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2014
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