As morning sun beams through,
Melting away the cold snow and ice.
Did the night pass through?
Bringing forth dreams,
Of love, passion and ecstasy?
If but only dreams then why?
Why doth my heart still scream,
Flutter and try to break free?
Are these sweet memories just a trick?
A most cruel trick to play upon oneself,
Of softs kisses upon ever softer skin,
Of screams devout and words of love,
Of promises forever held,
Under the eternal eyes of God above.
If but a dream then a dream like no other,
If but a dream then to sleep I shall go,
To wake I shall nevermore,
For to wake from this dream so tender,
perfect, and sweet,
Would be to cast my body and soul,
Onto the sulpherous coals below.
If but a dream then but such a cruel dream,
Spat from Hades for a man to know,
But never to live,
Damning my heart to never love,
Like the love of my dream.
But it be not a dream which I do recall,
A reality so perfect it merely be;
The substance of which dreams are made,
My love did come in the night,
An angel with wings,
Feathers as blue as a summer sky,
Through open window and into my arms,
Whispering a synopsis of words;
That can only try to describe.
To die right here,
In a moment of unparralelled love,
Be still my heart for this can only be,
A dream to which dreamers dream,
Looking out to the sky above,
Run away with my mind,
My heart doth gallop,
In my arms forever lie,
Until the sun burns out,
Until the tides recede,
And never to return,
Until time ceases and all life follows suit,
Bodies entwined forever in perfect symmetry,
This dream such a dream,
But a reality.
You my dream,
To which I dream dreams of love,