|I dream it . . .
and now the scene decays and withers away,
all those past sorrows that come slithering
when I close my eyes.
Oh, will there be a time when sadness fades and dims,
when I do not linger among stones cold,
where stone angels lower their heads to weep;
and I stand broken with a wilted red rose,
while memories come creeping, creeping, creeping;
and when even the birds stop their singing.
Oh, will there be a night with no nightmares;
when I can put my head upon my pillow in peace.
Poetry/Verse/I Dream It
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1172-974-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.