Saturday, August 27, 2011


(I wrote this, 27 Aug 2011, thinking about the end of Summer and the withering blooms in the garden, some going dormant 'til Spring's awakening, while others gone forever more, lost to Winter's regret. [dht-2011])


Sober Dreams shrouded in regrets still haunt,
with ever increasing frequency,
Transported "Home" in an enduring vision –
quietly sweeping and weeping
through the passageways of my mind.

When the "Fantasy of my Love"
turns to me with a smile,
I see through the haze of my slumber,
Spring's visage of Love's Tender Care.

OH -- for a portal through which one can return,
to a Time long passed and recoup innocence lost,
to revive a Dreamer's Fantasy long ago withered.

Yet tis ever naught, after all,
but a Dreamer's Tisane, a haunting illusion.

Naught but a Withered Dream.


                                     [PHOTO SOURCE: GOOGLE online images]

1 comment:

    Count the number of 'lines' in each 'paragraph grouping'. SO what is the final count? (15 -- the end of innocence).

    AND, what do you notice about the 'sequence count'? Descending? By how much does each group-count descend?

    OH, the 'hdden' meaning and purport -- that is in plain view. Such is LIFE, where something seems simple and clear -- BUT on further reflection is intricute and complex, LIKE a Dream.