Poetry from Echo: Was it the end of a dream?...or... |
The Rose
His face lies before mine Scarlet eyes Soft brown hair He touches my lips With a golden kiss And whispers softly To the cold night air How I’d waited for so long To hear those words… Am I dreaming? Did he really say them? Are we here Alone With the sea And the stars? Yes… For I could not have dreamt this He puts his arms about me Sheltering Warming me from the cold His eyes His face I’d not forget Stay young As I’d grow old He holds me Places his lips to mine He gently takes my hand His features so fine In the pale moonlight His silhouette He leads me across the sand No… I could not be dreaming For my eyes Could never conjure A man As fine as this We stand before my doorstep And once again his kiss Just as real Just as softly As the first time He’d pulled me close And within my hand Placed delicately A tiny Burgundy Rose I awaken With a tear in my eye He’s gone Was he ever really here? The memories That he’d left behind So fresh Like yesterday How had I created them In my mind? Surely He was just a dream That I must forget Gone Like the summer wind I hear myself scream But I must go on So I turn To face tomorrow And pull that door of yesterday To a close Not looking back At the tears I’d shed But smile instead At my tightly clutched hand For within it Lies The Rose No… It wasn’t a dream at all |