Dream Weaver

 

Dream weaver

Like a voyage of long ago,

A time long awaited, where the inspiration rejuvenates an inspirator of dreams,

there aren't rehearsed dreams better than agitated currents,

nothing prepares an inspirator for events so impacting like these...only that emotions and innate feelings incorporate to weave complex feelings that exhaust the soul already in surrender.

Again I find myself embracing for the shock of my life...like it was yesterday.

I reason like a innocent young lad in my search for truth, harmony, feelings, principles, and virtues...Oh Lord save me' help me' give strength...understanding in this world of dreams that never seem to seize pouring my way...I'm not dignified of the leveled thinking.

If poetry is letters of second hand, why do I find myself hindered in what is revealed before me? If poetry is letters of second hand' why do I summons a supreme being? Like this was a debate between me and the creator! My reinforcement is to continue revealing the fundamental things of the heart and pursue the current correctness in guiding the senses.

Never doubt what I write...from the most profound things of the heart inspired reasoning ushers forth what the dream weaver feels in his inspired search.

There can be no falsehood in revealing...more likely it is the initial stage to convocate dialogue, where there is invocation souls come together like poetry and the letters to promote communication in the field of thinking. Poetry and its power for sure have gained its rewarding crown for time to come.

She weaves my broken dreams,

she's soft like the morning mist,

she has these beautiful blues...one is the vast oceans...the other a bright sky in a touching spring break,

she's a master work of whom the thinkers of modern and ancient times debate if she is true or not,

she's an electrifying maiden, no need for dynamic energy to assemble my thoughts,

She would be a great lament if lost and the Divine beings would lament her for an eternity.

What would become of me if she was bones of my bones and fresh of my fresh? I care for her like the hen care for their kind.

I would be enchanted with her like a toddler and toy of interest,

she would be my toy in my eternal toddling.

What can a poor gentile man do for a maiden such touching? If life is all I possess ...than my sacrifice is not in vain!

She's hope for a fallen people and they anticipate in her revealing treasures, O' grandiose king of eternity woe' to me if this was letter of second hand, you are my guide...My fort and my call...you my Judge' that the reality is the sacred expression.

O' my Lord equip me for the outstanding of this dream, you well know my tragedy...I'm innocent in this dream that I can't construct, prepare my path according to the events of worth and surprises in which I must embrace, I ask no more...otherwise that the sacred expression returns fortified in a world of abnegation and absences.

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By: Raphael G

 06/15-23/07