Book Of Dreams Poem by Gabriel SimpsonLaw

As morning lays her hands upon my sill
Ethereal threads of night I cling to still
And holding as they whisper from my mind
The revenant trace of you they leave behind

I keep a tiny volume by my cot
That night’s fair visions will not be forgot
Thick, torpid as I struggle to recall
To scribe the sad minutia of it all

How delicately did your face appear?
How silvery the traces of those tears?
Exactly which words did you use to say
That you cannot be here throughout the day?

Cruel Morpheus releases me each dawn
To punish me, to make me soldier on
To daily suffer under his regime
So I write about you in my book of dreams