Trickles of dreams
Afloat on wayward streams
Caress and placate my mind today.
As thoughts of a tomorrow
Without its turmoil or sorrow
Float like angel moths my way.
For beyond this world mine
Lay the gentle green pastures
Which are captured in the transparency of a separate time.
For it is here from within dreams like these,
That the whispers of these tiny angels unto my mind do tease.
And it is here that I so chose to return,
as the remains of my former world collapse and burn.
Therefore, I now lift up my eyes
To behold the beauty, which now lies
in the soft secret place of my mind.
For I watch the angel moth in its splendid and cavorting grace
As it with its buttercup wings
Brushes genteelly against the hollow image my face.
and it is then that, I realize
The joy one can capture
When stealing serenity from the angel moth
In the moments before it greets the sun and dies.
J. Allen Wilson © 2005