Things Of Dreams

visions of flames showing people without names faces in the night quietly asking for light small fires afar, aglow across wide valleys, way below sitting on mountain tops alone looking to the sky, searching for home whispering waters trying to speak dark curtains refusing to give a peak the funeral march of Chopin singing: we will never pass this way again breathing in entire clouds learning to love, as never before allowed joyous for no particular occasion embracing a pure, peaceful sensation laughing without restraint in finding, all are part sinner, part saint... some dark, some light, these strange visitors of the deep night.