If only my wishes were like flying doves,
To then whisper in a morning flight
All the dreams I've had during the night.
As to give my wish a ground of reality
And wind to carry its own immortality.
I will wish. I will hope.
I will die wrapped in my infantilism rope.
To the care of the stars...
Night and day.
The security of our planetary womb
Which brings comfort and dismay.
I will die. This is as certain as what I say.
My eyes will close into the blackness of infinity.
My soul elevating as my body stays.
Erica Borges
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-dreamer-32/
