Nine Dragons Poet Free verse

The Dream of a Recurring Theme

There on the forest floor,
Twixt Elm and Sycamore,
Lay he.
His eye stay close—
Yet still the swirls of colours rose.
Many a fading hue and bleeding tint,
He drown down within,
Looking up from within a dream;
He was all part of a stream.
Of vivid colours:
That were all and everything.
Every color of the rainbow:
Blues, reds, greens, and yellows
And every shade in between.
It was like nothing he had ever seen,
But for the life of him,
He could not remember where he had been,
But could still hear a distant hymn
That seem’d originate somewhere
Deep, recessed within.
Voices angelic, in chorus sung,
The verses play upon the tip of his tongue,
But no words would come.
His mouth agape,
The colours of the curious 'scape
Would seem reverberate.
Instead of words attuned to ear
These seem’d only reflect upon the eye,
And the pangs of the beauty brought
Ever the more a sigh and tear.
The colours abate any rise of fear,
But soothed instead his heart—
Brought his worries a quiet
To rest within and summarily
Depart.

And so he lay—
And no beast or trouble made claim
His flesh. Nor did nature seek reclaim,
But sprawling clouds and thunders came
To break the sleep; break his slumber,
Dispel what ever magic spell he be under.
The rain struck his face
And mixed with the tears that race
Down either side,
Tho’ not of woe did he cry,
But of the grace;
The colours and angelic strains
That wrought him lie there,
Ever in rest and an eternal peace
To wont ere be unbroken.

The rain falls and strikes
Like a liberating armada,
A tyrannical king.
His response from a place deep within…
“No.
I don’t ever want to wake again.
Leave me here to lay,
I have found a heaven;
Where to forever play,
To lay,
To love in array
All that stirs above and below.
Look and see me as all that flows;
All that is
And all that man will know,
But chooses unwisely
In his youth—
For the reign of a narrow truth
That brings him aught,
But tireless pursuits
And suffering,
Before his totems,
And selfish deems—
Refusing to accept
All is not as it seems,
And so, mires in the shallows
For his fear of the deep.”

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