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Dream Stealer(part 1) Death of a legend (a repost from DP1)
| Dark Poetry #2 |
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Dream Stealer(part 1) Death of a legend (a repost from DP1) |
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Walter Poe Senior Member
since 1999-10-13
Posts 787 |
You were there there in my dreams you took them formed them into physical entitys made them live, breath vibrate, harmonise and touch the world My dreams in technicolour In an unimaginable world an aurora of light and sound They were everywhere Your mind and mine in an unimaginable awe inspireing Dance of Art and fantasy each note and beat Pound, Pound, Pounding Beating its rythem Imprinting itself on my being I can sit alone in the dark Silent and Still Hearing that sound My soul echoes its centre The universe inside Me, You, Family, Friends Enemys and everyone Mirrored in music Then came the drag the end the end of my dreams the end of anything and everything Judgement Day the Final chapter Now the dreams are gone And you are past history Your legacy young child Touched by the music But the Soul has died The music is gone you are forgotten Covered up and done Now I dream of the yesterday that I miss so much As dreams and reality mingled As your voice, my soul touch the present and Future are bleak Now only dust remains As scattered remnants on the road Are Washed away by the rain On these dusty roads these last memories that stay here I make my home now Waiting for the day One day my soul will fly Among the clouds and blue And touch a child small and shy So make reach the moon My soul I instill in him Your voice to him I pledge Every life will light him And every spotlight fall true But now my dreamings done and past My soul is emptey And reality clear as glass Now only the question Did the music dream me Or did I the music make. Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling From glen to glen, and down the mountain side The summer's gone, and all the roses falling 'Tis |
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| © Copyright 2000 Paul Weatherstone - All Rights Reserved | |||
catalinamoon
since 2000-06-03
Posts 9543The Shores of Alone |
My goodness Walter, I hardly know where to start. I first thought this was a lover, then a child lost. Most touching and perfectly written. Loved it. Catalinamoon Practice can make anything perfect...even grief can become an art. Merrit Malloy |
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