Dream

It was a crimson moon
On velvet tapestry
The stitched work of countless stars
Out there for all to see
It was a golden peach
Dancing on the sky
Rippling as a tiny pebble
Skipped merrily on by

It was an ancient book
Raw open in the weather
And many rings of ages past
That greeted passing feather
It was a tiny bead
On thin stretched silver string
Sparkles of a pastime slow
In candlelight, glimmering

It was an etched heart
Piercing song of oak
Just to show the girl
How tenderly he spoke
It was a fading light
Gave way to mist's rare gleam
In marshes thick or valley rich
My savoring, my dream

by Indigo Rosedragon

Comments (2)

William Blake would have been at home in the 60s with the hippies and LSD and free love. This poem has a let it all hang out attitude.. Blake takes gleeful delight in waving his flag of spiritual and sexual freedom in his fellow countrymen's face. I bet he thrived in confronting the establishment and making its cheek flush with anger and embarrassment..
.........although the meaning eludes me...I find this an interesting write with interesting imagery and language ★