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?
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