The Dream That Visits
In sleep’s soft chamber, shadows bend,
A fleeting touch, a face to lend.
The dream arrives with hands so near,
A phantom warmth, a love sincere.
It feels more real than waking air,
A borrowed moment beyond despair.
Yet dawn unmasks the fragile seam,
And absence floods the broken dream.
Still, whispers rise to the silent skies,
“Return each night, let grief disguise.
Come in the hush where sorrow sleeps,
Come in the place where memory keeps.”
Dreams are not lies, but doors ajar,
They show us love that lingers far.
If absence can wound, can not dreams also heal,
Or are they only reminders of what we cannot feel?
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