Dreams Like Songs

Dreams like favorites songs fade slowly away without a sound into the night.

Collages are gathered and built by the grotesque of fragments of a troubled life.

Callously they are strung, panel by panel and put on display for the world to see.

Daguerreotypes struck on quick silver fill the void where ghostly images softly bleed.

These thoughts like minefields lie hidden beneath the shallow surface of the soul.

Danger lurking; destruction imminent, and dogmas delivered err before a chance to be whole.

Words of seeming truth are offered in sacrifice upon this wrecked and battered hill.

And tomorrow is a sweet nuance that lay before our feet; teasing the spirit against its will.

These altruistic endings thought long before its humble beginnings are held quiet in secret desire.

No more rambling prose to gather disgust or disdain; nothing more left in this closing hour slain.

The musty smell of a thousand broken pages lingers on touting the advice of a hundred sages.

Never more this heaven of escaping dreams; nevermore neither told nor heard since dark angels sing.

So kiss sweet this thing called life, whispering low its silent sorrow.

Its whispering low now in the darkness in its bid to the long furies of flight.

For dreams are like our songs and life is like our fleeting dreams.

J. Allen Wilson © 2007