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Dreams
What are dreams?
How are they made?
While we sleep,
or while we play?
By will of mind
or prayer of heart.
Brought by night,
at day depart?
A window pain,
to bring us joy.
to keep us safe,
our brains employ
simple things,
our mind to think,
a finite scene
gone in a blink?
I submit a better tale.
One not lost to the blind.
Dreams are made to give us love,
a retreat into our minds.
For the greatest thing,
that sleep holds dream,
is the union of the soul,
and all the while I dream
this dream, your heart’s
near mine,
your soul my soul
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