My Dreams Are Like Poems

My dreams are like poems, they come to me through that unseen door to the unknown mind. Why and when they come I know not--in my youth they came as child's play first, then later as poems of soft love and hard lust, some written, some lived. As my youth aged, the poem-dreams faded, until one forgotten day the great door slammed shut without a sound.... For half a life-time it was sealed tight, forever I believed--until some small wonder chanced to pry it open... what I do not know: perhaps the memory of a tangible dream, a dream real as life of a long lost love. Now the dreams come in platoons-- the poems oft with them-- two sides of the same golden coin?