The Dreamer's Game


No reason or rhyme, or time of season
Or time of day is there,
To cherish the afternoon or sullen morn,
Or dark of night, as wings unfold,
As simple summer clouds arise
Far into the Heaven's blue,
Across the sultry August days.

Little time to listen to sounds
Of crickets and cicada's,
Cardinals and owls or even jays,
Or even the neighbors cat's meow
Emanating from darkness beneath a bush
Draped in spent flowers of springs delight,
As Autumn paints the summer's end.

A burning sensation on afternoon's coat,
Licks the glorious arms of Sun's warmth
Like baby's breath on roses gentle folds-
A touch so natural, beautiful and tempting.
While August turns away the summer rain,
September poises to gather flakes and breezes
To chill the feet of Summer's warm pain.

Wresting away the dreamer's game,
Another bank of clouds covers hearts again,
Easing their rhythm into a cascading smile,
Echoing the whispers of friends in love
Guiding their journey to softened places
Hidden from windows and gossiping lips,
Summer dreams flirt with bittersweet memories.




Poetry by Morpheus
Read 716 times
Written on 2006-08-14 at 21:59

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Veld Cooper
This is just so beautiful - the imagery coming through (as always I feel as though I was there and could reach and touch things!) reminds me of an alltime favourite beginning 'season of mists and mellow fruitfullness, close bosom-friend of the rising sun'...Great stuff, Morpheus!
2006-08-22


Kathy Lockhart
love the soft, gentle images you described. This is a soothing poem of a time of change and a time of love to be embraced. wonderful! kathy
2006-08-15


Evelyn
what a great poem, I love the "pictures" you are using=) Really good...*
2006-08-14