She comes to me at dead of night, when I am close-wrapped in my dreams;
I see her face, I hear her name; and that is all; but yet, it seems
that I have waited all my life, for someone; could it really be
perhaps, that she is so much more than just some dream that comes to me?
Does she actually exist? this glorious creature of the night?
She comes to me with gentle, loving words that fill me with delight.
Or, is she just some sweet, ephemeral thought? perhaps a memory?
Some book once read, some film once watched;
some half-remembered symphony

of unrequited love;
perhaps, a chance encounter? Fleeting glance?
Ships that passed by in the night? Some hope of love? Star-crossed romance?
All long forgotten; lost, down through the drifting mists of passing years;
some memory remaining, nourished by such long-forgotten tears?
If so; how can I then, explain this dream? This one bright truth, that shines;
remembering the taste of her soft lips, more sweet than summer wine.
Remembering the glory of a love burned deep into my soul;
remembering, she folded me in wings of love and made me whole.

Perhaps, we were together in some other place, some other time;
perhaps, not knowing of such things; this time around, I missed the signs.
Perhaps, as yet, we have not met; but, I feel that she is there.
Perhaps, if love is kind, we may yet meet
some time, somehow, somewhere.
Oh, sad, deluded fool; I hear you say; I would not disagree
with that,
but then, I find it strange, that she should come so frequently
into my dreams; and if, she never was, or shall be; it's alright;
I know that she will come again, softly in the dead of night.

If there is but, one tiny grain of truth; some possibility
that the life force does return; ever circling endlessly
in time and space
if, this time, we chance not to meet; then I intend
that, should it take a hundred lifetimes, I shall find her in the end.
For she gives me a feeling, I have never felt, have never known;
I've lived without it, all my life; yet, softly... quietly, has grown
this instinct that she is out there;
where do I look? where do I start?
Perhaps, within the deepest, and most secret reaches of my heart.