The Dreamer

Alone when I stand and see these pages
Of faces with sweat and surging brows
At the crossroad, in the crowd, in hedges
Of crimson cast sky and a brazen desire;
Shadow to shadow neither differs more
Nor instinct succumbs to serene pledges.
Why bother about the river that will flow?
Why stammer when the hymns are low?

Swan to swan will pass on the streak;
For sorrow is like a grounded freak,
At the crossroad, in the crowd, in hedges
Only apparitions and myths of Greek
Stand like a new Troy is about to break.
The shields are dead, the swords wrapped
Now in the creepers of cold memories.

A pasture so green, so greatly laid
Wih a blanket covered in burgeoning blue;
See the corns and grains in gold swaying
For long like hands of the old soulmate.
Not become timber nor dead like glue
That sticks lifeless lips, no hymn will wait.

Let the poets come and all words settle,
The verse is so old but lives forever.
Man to man will meet not in dark battle,
But with eyes of the eternal dreamer.
I am not away, not beside, not far,
Not God on the tower so white and tall,
But in you I reside, I am the dreamer.

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