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
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