While Sleeping

While sleeping Why is it mornings, so far in the distance, flowing from beyond tempered borders on north facing bridges, always seem to call in the midst of a dream When sunrise illusions erase sleep with mockingbird rhythms sung midst dew drops lost in the confines of spring with autumn fast approaching featuring shadows stretched Long silhouettes on the porch, weathered and beaming, tapping the front door with frantic fingers, calling in loud voices of new day charm, yet quiet in the state of mind seen through blurry eyes Still, a before smile, brought about yesterday forces dimples once again in my cheeks igniting the darkness with blue sky spotlights, streaked of feathered beacons on pale white ceilings Reminding me, the true dream I have found actually lives in my daylight, slipping around corners and window sill gaps, finding me on the brink of now, stumbling my way to where I long to be awake For my true dream is you, who I so desperately miss. . . while sleeping Good morning Soupers