Exhale

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.