An Ancient Dream




Up high I climbed, weary, yet not dismayed;
Tired, yet had strength within me that was steel
Against the harsh wind; sad, yet so that tears
Seemed sweet drops of joy too intense to feel.

Then at the golden Gate I knocked, with the power of my fears,
Knowing how full of woe, yet full of wonder was I.
Through all that night they helped me sleep, to dream
An ancient dream, perhaps the one before we die

Of things unknown that appeared like ghosts through swirling Time,
No harmony, nor music soft spun from magic sight,
Save a single haunting, plaintive, note that to me seemed
A scent of jasmine, carried on a desert wind, at night.

And refreshed I was, with the light of the rising sun,
And by this peaceful place, this haven from hatred’s constant voice,
Wishing the same for all who watch, alone, the crying stars,
Who live in war, unable to rejoice.

Winds of Woven Dreams




The wilding winds of woven dreams,

Torment the seas of time,

And in the air that no man sees,

There is the scent of crime,


Of sorrow, truths and hidden lies,

The face we all disguise,

The ready masks and old clichés,

That hide among the wise,


Of passions chained and sleeping rage,

They cannot exist,

But watch them burn and brightly flame

Among the freedom kissed,


The night is long, and rarely lit,

By reason or its kin,

And in the cavern dark and dim,

Madness makes its din.