On Tiptoe’s Silver Night

This my dream, which slips silent into the night.
Walks tiptoe in the bold hushed tones of an eternal flight.
Incense is fanned to the heavens by seven angel’s wings.
Reality becomes the illusion, and the illusion becomes the dream.
 
Shadows dance in crazy unison across the dark star lit room.
Music reminiscent of other days sways notes to hearts silent swoon.
The pallor of invisibility, dons’ its sustenance; cloaked now in rubies and gold.
Time is no more rendered; pain is but a distant memory gone.
 Hope oh endless hope has now traveled to where fears no longer take hold.
 
Thus now the silence unto my dreams on tiptoe’s silver night.
The sweet hush of softness prevails with another angel in flight.
Sweeping vistas stream by, rushing headlong into the mighty wind.
All that there ever was, is to me to be never be again.

Sweet dreams on angel’s wings…peace sleeps in this whisper.

J. Allen Wilson © TWO 2007