Through shifting, staggered halls of endless night you came,

appearing as once you did, as if no thing had changed,

and in that dream of hope there was still possibility;

that one day, given time, you would return to me again.


So clear the image drawn upon the sheets of darkened sleep,

so full the shape of body that I had known in life,

so real the touch of flesh in unexpected, wept embrace;

ah yes, how mind can can take us far and cruelly, bitter deep.

Or was it real, that moment in the shredded realms of thought?

Was time and the material pushed gently to the side,

so what once was, could then be made again, renewed?

Or was it just the desperate need of heart so overwrought?



About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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