The Language Of Dreams Poem by Jeffrey McCambridge
The Language Of Dreams
Words mean little to
The dead language of dreams
Where color takes significance
Over the value of all else.
Forgotten by the Prophets
And their followers, the dreams
Are alive with communication
With forgotten worlds
Trees bleed the substance
Of dreams and poetry.
Tossing them as wind
Would rustle in their leaves
Only to be forgotten
As dead things are
With the coming
Of morning’s first light.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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4/26/2024 11:11:38 PM # 1.0.0.1119
