Sweet dreams

Sweet dreams are written in heaven
for those who are happily married

those still distraught
are in fallacious search caught

searching wild in the wilderness
all day all night

so let the wavering winds blow
and as we from here all go

late into the eerie night
day break bring violet light

let red roses spray fragrance too
of love and affection on all of you

like rainbows true
with a smiling hue

a spell on my intention
is a mother of invention
and I now believe the nymphs along the way

while this magic mathematician
wields the slight of her ambition
and my hand is waving on the child's play

the strummer of the lute
and the harlequin's new flute
are serenading that these rules are just a phase

her kind and open heart
says just because we’re worlds apart
it doesn't mean connections won't be made

epoch the boney trail
through smoulder rising
streaks
black rails

the honey happiness
shattered standing
spring awaits
calls to those last planning

a crew is gathered
the rebels scattered
the ragged soil of
their kit tattered
The preacher in
his black and cross
annoints the kneeling
captured lost

in the veil of clouds
translucent rays
shine as a sign
of the truthes
the brave
shine off his
worn weapon
for the souls he's
about too save

Once prismatic brilliance;
brilliant only through borrowed light.

Alone again in darkness, gleaming;
glum, instant companion of a night -

blind to grief and deaf to joy,
save by pristine thought on lone-ward height.

Ever calling, feline caterwauling;
In the distance horizon burning bright.

That sparkle in the eye is rekindled; 
Fully renewed at the break of day.

Last night I saw you stir,
you were half asleep as I was,
listless because life's
a dreary affair, what thoughts
you have of me I do not know,
but the flowers weep no more,

It was your hand that made the sign
and I looked the other way,
old dreams must die someday,
I sighed but still
I listened to the warm words
rise like smoke from your lips,
dead muse that walks again,

people ask if I meditate still
as I did when my son was first missed
in hours of yoga each morning and evening
seeking answers, assuaged in still bliss

how to reply is a tad difficult
for I spend, I think, more time a day
but in seconds only, in quiet small fragments
never wandering too far away

because, in those epochs of pure golden light
that cleansed me waxed-white with its wisdom
I understood things not especially secret
but simple stuff I had forgotten

if all you tear
from age-old skin
is a shard
of broken glass

then how
will bravery
flow, through
tired brows

my dear
look me in the eye
and profess
i am not crying

for crying
is for the meek

and do not sing
as dawn cracks
heavy

for i raised you better
than to be a fool
frolicking in the grass

not as much the words
but sound, mood, theme resonate
their poetic thought

I like this

This was eloquently written
Rhymes well in my poetic ear
Not knowing what a Quatern is
Neither I before Stan's contest.

A desire, a want and hope
This was eloquently written
Like lantern with darkness, elope
From within, your desire glow.

I'd love to come alongside you
To glow in this poetic art
This was eloquently written
No, it is not wrong to think so.