Empty Dreams

The box is full yet nothing left,

cystals and strange apparati

fill the dark, clear and pristine,

A sundry of forgotten dreams,

a space best filled with dark again.

What a shame to leave the treasure,

what a time to wait for none,

for many who seek search wrong,

lest they seek the rising sun.

Some must stumble through the dark,

do not pay the fares!

Danger looms in expediency,

Shadows won’t luminate tears.

When the sun doth come again,

And in this heart shed a ray of hope

a second or a days rejoice

Is quite enough to know,

infinite is found in that single grain,

The part represents the whole.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Poet’s Dream

Describe the dream in words,

that’s what poets do,

and the dream is like a piece of art

both sprung from the mind, these two.

A world of beauty in one glance

twisted fate and perfect circumstance

a current of deep waters, a dance,`

shining, colorful, dark…

The forms within are many

yet of materials so minute;

it is a wonder there is a dance at all,

yet the tree has taken root!

It is surrounded by a pond, emerald green,

and the blue white high above,

of life is the tree, it surely appeared when

a strong will became great love.