To Wish Impossible Things
Let me then tell you of dreams. I dream I could only hope I could dream. As the thought of it takes my very breath away. Secrets of the heart stored ever so secret , deep inside my most secret place, so the slightest thought of her stored there, the hands of time could never fade. Her name be of that, which is beauty, beyond any beauty be ever compared. For beauty could only dream to become her and could never be one of her hairs. That lay trace and outlines her face the very reason eyes were gifted to see, but confounded by what is before them, like sands are in awe of the sea. An ocean of wonder, is that she. Vast and full of splendors untold, under the moon that I aim for, would be just that her hand I could hold. The painters brush dare never paint her, the artist hands would just lay in wait. Miracles could never be painted, poets only dare dream to write of her name. The quill thirst for the ink lay before it , as for her my soul always the same. The way the Sun wishes to catch the moon and I wish impossible things.
Copyright © Scot Garner | Year Posted 2021
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