Sleepers Awaken With the Softest Kiss

Lake of Dreams

Love is the dove that rests on your shoulder,
So many brush it away,
For the memory of its purity,
Drowns in the pond of mirrors,
Simple reflections of shimmering diamonds,
That ripple the under currents,
Of a disfigured self image,
Projected onto the spikes of words,
Tossed carelessly it seems,
Sinking the lake of dreams.

Every face that you see today,
Are reflections upon the lake of dreams,
For they carry the scroll of their future story,
The hope of future glory,
Beckoning them over the cobblestones of pain,
As their hearts are stained with cries of frustration,
Which rise up on the waves of turmoil,
Like hurdles they must jump,
They must know how high,
Or slip to the side and fail,
For the path became the trail,
As they slide into obscurity,
The dream,
A sandcastle,
Eroded by the tide of time.

What is your dreaming?
It is the dream time,
For dreams float on the clouds of love,
Which surface gently as the sunrise of a new life,
Reshapes your horizon,
Do you believe dreams can come true?
As the winds of inspiration,
Dance within the iris of ideas,
Playing with the threads of experience,
To cut the cloth to measure,
But do you measure up?
For the hollow in your heart,
Sketches the routine in your life,
In straight lines.

For security is in the walls of certainty,
Real hope is in the calls of uncertainty,
For security is all the same,
Dreams unlock the rules of the game,
The winds of freedom,
Lift your life onto the thermals of new levels,
As the dam of repression,
Gives way to new pathways of expression,
You are no longer molded by the walls of institutions,
For you have your own constitution of independence.

As your dream awakens you from sleep,
The sleeper awakens with the softest kiss,
For love is the sleeping beauty,
Which watches over you gently as you sleep,
From a discreet distance,
Your light she keeps,
As uncertainty is her bedfellow,
The shadow on her future,
Is cast by the kindness in your eyes.

Is the dream real?
Or is life surreal?
Only a few follow their dreams,
For others the dreams follow them,
Trailing behind as if forgotten,
Abandoned by the failings of life,
The shine dulled by time,
Drowning in the reflection of sour wine,
But the sign is not in seeing to believe,
But believing,
And then you will see,
You will free it,
And you will be it,
The person you really see,
In the sky of your dreams.