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She came to him dream, an angel from high above,
“Meet me within the coolness of the shade, where the fields flow,”
“Meet me where the hills roll, and the trees shadow the ground,”
“Meet me my dear, in the early hours of morning,”
As he stood within dream, he saw the spot where she spoke of,
Watching as this angel of such grace, and beauty,
Floated away, off into the heavens from whence she came,
He smiled to himself, as he awoke from his silent slumber,
He thought to himself, as he looked out the window,
The sun rising over the horizon, casting brilliant colors into the sky,
“Do I trust my dream, something that felt so true and real,”
“Or do I cast it aside, as if it were just another false dream,”
He looked out at the sun, pondering ever so deeply,
Until the bells of morning chimed off in the distance,
Something he had never heard before, and so, he took it as a sign,
This man, whom dreamed a dream of an angel, set out, in search of that heavenly place,
For hours he roamed, deep into the night, until he yelled out to the setting sun,
“Give me a sign, any sign, dear angel, for I must find you,”
“I am lost in this world, unable to find my way, please, just one sign,”
And with that, the sun crept away over the horizon casting him into darkness.
There he stood, looking into the falling darkness, still hoping,
Hoping that his dearest angel would find him,
Wishing that she show him mercy, and give him a path,
And his prayer was answered, with the brilliant shinning of a single solitary star,
His heart was uplifted, as he thought to himself,
“It must have been real, this angel that came to me in a dream,”
“Her face so brilliantly beautiful, her words, so soft to the ear,”
“She has given me a path, and I shall take it,”
And so he moved on, following that bright shinning star,
Following it, ever so closely, until it finally was dimmed,
Dimmed away by the rising of the morning sun,
T’was morning once more, and as he looked around, he was there,
He had found the same place of his dreams, standing under the cool shade of the tree,
“This is where I belong, this is where I should be,”
“Oh if waiting for you my dear was not such torture on my soul,”
And so there he waited, starring out at the open fields, where the wind brilliantly flowed,
Morning passes into noon, and under the cool shade of the tree, he waited,
Waited for the angel of his dreams, to grace his presence,
Noon passed into, evening, and evening into night,
And there he still waited, somberly for his angel,
Hope had begun to leave him, as the stars shone over him in that tranquil quiet night,
“Oh where are you my dear angel, have I not found the right place,”
“Have I not done as you asked, traveling night and day, following the stars,”
“Will you never come to me, my dearest angel…were you just a dream,”
The morning came once again, and a tear crept from his once dry eyes,
Hope had left him, and the dream in which he wished to be real, never lived,
He looked up at the heavens, his heart broken, and hurt,
And he turned his back on the shade of the tree, the fields, his dream, and started home,
His heart filled with grief, he lowered his head in shame, until his ears brought him to a halt.
 William Saint Claire · Tue Jan 06, 2009 @ 02:08am · 0 Comments |
