Did you dream me, or do I truly live,
For my thoughts dwell on nothing but your grace;
All else seems sun-blanched early morning mist
Through which I see the shining of your face;
Yet what ethereal vapors hold me here
And leave me blind to all that is not you?
What sweet nepenthe formed of heavens tears
Did I imbibe, my longings to subdue?
But if I am a figment of your mind,
A whimsy of capricious consciousness,
I pray we never waken here to find
My dream within your dream no longer lives;
Still, if I am a child of your brain…
I’ll wait in earnest ’til you sleep again.

©Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.