He that dreams while waking still
Is yet more blessed than any man
Who sees this life as all that will
And paints his futures in the sand.

The dreamer speaks with passersby,
Brief chats or talks longevity
Well stretched, like freshly pulled taffy
(Not teeth, as dentists often pry).

A dream, once shared, may multiply
Until it fills the burning sky
With pungent reds and ochre tones:
A sunrise born where there was none.

Don’t mock the dreamer in his world,
His sudden bursts of private mirth,
For he may see the clouds unfurled,
Perceiving present heav’n on earth.


4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. brudberg
    Oct 10, 2012 @ 14:42:15

    WOW! Excellent piece of poetry


  2. yourverybestwork
    Oct 12, 2012 @ 08:16:08

    Very interesting concept, and well executed.


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