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The final dream.
Dark crumpled satin curtains falling from a brazen window rail
Drew shadow stories of themselves that seem to tell more of their tale,
Spring breezes tapped on window panes, and yet inside the room was still
A sleeping sense of timelessness, a cross still standing on a hill,
Just shade on shade so silent laid, like Prayer mats stacked just by the door
And in the room a silent Psalm prostrate upon the oaken floor,
Below the hallway letter box, were letters piled like years gone by
So many manuscripts to read, so many ways to laugh and cry.

Pages curled over at the edge, no lantern light to set words free
No mortal eyes to read them now, no need for them to come to be,
Dark green glazed tiles round dead fire ash, reflected long gone Winter nights
Before the breathing dreams had gone, before time turned out all the lights,
Green velvet chairs, oak panelled walls, faint footsteps on old parquet floors
And winding distant balustrades that lead to dark blue paint flaked doors,
Where dreams still sleep and memories play in distant whispered elegance
And windows blink away the moonís remembrances of old romance.

And in another room somewhere, time doesnít mean as much to bear
Our loved ones kiss, our loved ones touch, for every angel seeks to share,
What once were mortal memories are evermore their days of grace
Their patience is immeasurable as is a smile upon a face,
For Motherís, Fatherís, daughters, sons have so much they can say to you
So many years of promises, so many dreams still to come true,
Itís just we never understood the meaning of lifeís trickling stream
From room to room we wander through, until we find our final dreamÖ


© 2017 WHITBYPOET1 (All rights reserved)


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