Dreamer

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  • Death

    Dreamer

     

    I dreamt of black coats and brass handles,
    of the creaking steps of new shoes,
    echoing in a vaulted, vacant hall,
    an odor of roses and lilies mixed
    like sweetened wine simmering hot,
    of shattered light through cobbled panes,
    spattered marbled splotches on a tiled floor.
    I dreamt of faces, grim in scrutiny
    -
    sad reflections on a rippling  pond,
    of  white satin’s arctic touch
    -
    as well as of  silence on my lips.

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    Crush commented on Dreamer

    06-30-2009

    My god this is wonderful and so genuine. I love this so much. Thank u.

    tygseflrpdme

    07/01/2009

    Same here

    To have great poets there must be great audiences too.

    Walt Whitman, American Poet (1819-1892)

    tygseflrpdme’s Poems (46)

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