What is life but a daydream?
There I was when the last color sowed,
And rage was no longer an ode:
As awaking faces strode
Towards my faulty ticking heartbeat,
Could life be no more than a mere defeat
Or a lore pack of daydreams?
I daydream about the last dance at the shore,
Smelling the seaside's hoar,
But tides tell no lies: those a roars.
No fool, embrace the sea for good:
As the waves lack mood,
Shall we dance as we soar.
I daydream about the life of the infant one:
Angelical witchcraft blessed by the sun:
Reality meets sanity with stun,
And, ya, miracles by true names -
Infinite laughter, wrath with no claim.
I daydream about mountains.
Have they not been the sacred silence of dream?
No higher than the peak,
And no concessions, indeed:
Restful sand and slashing wind,
Might they find an embrace by the rest of me.
Now memory shall be no more
I will go gently to the tore
With galant sights of old seams
And a pack of soared daydreams.
