poet Michael Walkerjohn

Michael Walkerjohn

In Dream's Home

in the dream
I am kind, of dreaming;
masks worn in reality,
break like crystal wine glasses;
I am no more, than I know I am,
I am loved, familar, translucent, effluent;
so my heart is transparent, then I lose it,
my soul achieves the form of this dream's fluidity;
abundant of spirit, perfectly visible in my fantasy,
in my dreams, there is clarity, as mist to the fog;
into the distance my horizon is a visible vestage,
no more than sleeping's fancy, through a good snore,
yet I need breath, and have width, and length, I think;
in dreams I experience my essence raptured,
I sense more, I know I have a home, I am captured.

Topic(s) of this poem: dreams

Poem Submitted: Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Poem Edited: Wednesday, October 29, 2014

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