Treasure Island

Alven L. Robinson


Dionysian Dreams


The world of dreams
sometimes gone
sometimes a forgotten song
replayed as if today
a voice quite far away
yet somehow near
clear as in a scene
the gleaming eyes still seen,
the years, the days,
the haze lifted for a time -
a moment spent near half Divine -
as if a bird in flight
Osiris in the night
wandering across
the desert landscape
lost in search of dark delights,
the silken hands of caravans
parting sacred veils
jeweled tales to tell
the wishing wells of thought,
brief histories,
mysteries half caught
within the ways
and plays of Love
affairs above the grave
the scaffolding half made
before the sacrifice
the turning vice of age.

A vacant stage
a cage escaped
curtains draped before the crowd
false idols proudly waiting
a return, their pyres to burn
desires turned to embers
faintly remembered glows,
the moonless snows
the flows of silence
before the cataracts
the tortured acts
actors voices calling
sacred vows befalling
the choices made
between the alleyways
imitations played -
the Dreams again displayed -
imagination's summer days
woken in the dawn
long horizons gone
into the shade
a twilight cast
the vastness seen -
the sunset Dream at last.

But before that day
a page is turned
ancient lessons yet relearned,
a waking world
spurned for Orphic views
distant galaxies to choose
the message of the Muse
unveiled through the myth
the mystic Styx,
a river twisting
toward the past
deeds tied fast to Souls
tolls now taken
cold deities forsaken
sudden to arise
their eyes ablaze
solstice fires raised
to Midsummer's Eve,
the grieving of repent
a life now spent as trial
transparent denial
beheld as trembling tears,
vision years obscured
sages words unheard
the consequence at hand.

The land of Dream as sand
as shifting dunes
black lagoons of isolation
the shipwrecked fascination
sailing toward the deep
the sails of sleep unfurled,
Poseidon's fluid world
ether swirling, whirling
to the floors, the doors
of doom, dark rooms
beneath the sea
before the reverie -
Dionysian ecstasy -
the sanctity of wines
sacred vines entwined
bodies serpentine beside the tree
the wisdom yet to be revealed
concealed in the stone
silent sounds unknown,
sweet mires of thought
inspirations to be taught
waiting for their time,
an existence quite sublime
thinly veiled by the Bliss
an ignorance twice kissed
before the parting clouds,
eternal prophecy allowed
its place, the recipient of Grace
a Spirit to embrace
standing on the shore -
the Dream at last no more.

Submitted: Thursday, June 12, 2014
Edited: Saturday, June 21, 2014

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Topic(s): Dreams

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