Made Of

The poet is the dreamer, weaving pictures of love into the palm of the mind in time. Giving away freely those caring images of a dream maker in melodic rhyme. The prowess of the believer will continue to unfold, by visions in dreams all miracle behold. Loves mysteries in souls do grow, faculties of healing affection only lovers know to sow. The eternal soul knows of what we are made, the spectrum by no worldly desire cannot invade. Echoes of divine will by compassion to see, the rich maze of kind words by pondering to be. Legacies in the void as matter in progress for sure, precise beauty emerges by mystery in joy to endure. Time cannot be the thief anymore as tread, when climes of faith are not forget. Memories in concern of touching spirit spend, and when the heart feels so innocent.