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On Roses

What the mind conceives of 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 swords
That slay dragons in clouds 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
With teardrops falling on roses.
 
D. Thurmond

(2013)

A work in progress. Some lines used in some of my other poems, all have different endings.

#OnOtherSleep #Things #ThoughtsAndDreams

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