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.
Smoky Hoss
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/things-of-dreams/
