Dreams Have Passed but Yet to Come

Her voice was soft
and the question bizzare
her tears were profuse
and the palms of her hands hard

I saw the green all around
the beginning of a new season
it was hers
it was ours

it took some time
but the image vivid
an angel said:

"Dreams have come to pass
but are yet to be."

...in all the colors
he stood staring
at the wonderful lark
who jumped twig to twig
as winds spiraled through

seeing things that were not there
and hearing sounds none could hear
like a close caress some lips
thrown at him
admixture of visions
and beats of heart
like thunder and lightnng this time she said:

"What is the shovel
and what do you dig?"

for deepness and knowing
hardened I knock
hair keeps on growing
and time does not stop
I riddle I hide my choicest delights
for few look to see this night
and my hands are free and ilde to speak
to burn these bushes isolate conversations
digging for wisdom that none here will benefit
for pride haunts them
because my will is strong
and them I can't outrun
no really
I dig for your heart
my love.

My hand was wet
and her hair bore scarlet
and overcome by some spell
the season had come
the threshold
the harshness will peak
sleep.

For if I could I'd breath over this corpse
like a wild lion from some myth
I'd roar and animate atoms
to spring a nest
like a wonderous wonderful city
and we'd take a breath
and there'd be no ease
experience could compare
no joy to contain the urge
to dance in the light of energy unreal
you'd be like some Queen
and I a King
like that of the forgotten land
but there we'd blend in
for there is no pride more
than in that corpse that gave birth
to the city of love
there in time it weeps
and back bending wiping the tears from our eye
some elderly imaginative father
battling harm again and again
in pride of his silly creation
that to unleash the grip
would burn all before
and there we'd sit
enthroned in love
dancing forevermore.