No Drugs Needed
What the mind conceives
From books and dreams
And visions conjured deep in cloud
Shall never fetch the love of faith,
'though love shall speak of faith aloud.
Mystic dreams can melt from parables
To a kind of allegorical confusion
And words become flaming dragons
Slain in the Master’s Glenn of clover.
Odd? How slumber seems to drift,
Gliding to places where reality ends,
Where the depth of self seems to fade
And the end of a story really begins;
{Somewhere near the roses.}
Parts or all of this poem was used, over the years, in other poems of mine. Over time it grew into a poem/story of it's own. Time span for this completed poem; 1984 to 05-07-2013.
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