The twilight gleam down the mountainside looked almost translucent,
As if the mountain spirits were spinning in a glittering cavalcade
Like splintering moonlit shards of endless effervescence,
While the silence was as malleable as the pause between Amen
And the congregation slowly rising to their feet,
And the peace seemed to form into feather winged silverine angels  
And just beyond the mountain, a cloud wept through the evening breezes
As the nightly hours gathered and talked together of the coming dawn.


The hours moved like dawn spirit puppets, through the peephole of night
They danced into an eternity of hypnotic schisms, where nothing died
Until the final bells were rang, and shades drifted on with the winds,
Entangled within the mysticism of life’s countless whispered moments,
And as shadows grew long across the clock’s face, eternity told the time,
The shadows were dream pointers inexorably turning moments to hours
And hours into the days of yesterday through until the days of tomorrow,
Then the sun started to shine once again and all was as it was before.


The collection plate of life was passed around the congregation
And was filled with the benevolence of satisfied souls again,
The gentle buzz of conversation grew as people stepped out into the day
From the Holiness of ecclesiastical shade to the wakened sunlight,
And for a while the world felt such a better place, but only for a while
The day was filled with strolling remembrances of places and people
Whether nearby or far away, thoughts always brought them nearer
For the Holy spirit has a way of making life fit together once more…

Dream the dreams that once had tip-toed softly through your sleep
Dream of the immeasurable, so silent and so deep,
Believe in the impossible, yet be prepared to doubt
Your whispers are just dreams of night that haven’t learned to shout.

Believe between your sentences, the reasons why you speak
And also in those timeless things, like kisses on the cheek,
Believe the night’s exquisite silk that slips across your face
And wraps the dreams you need to keep, in fluttering snow white lace.

Savour the scent of midnight green and breathe the forest’s air
So many scents are captivating, and yet none can quite compare,
Soft moonlight on a silent dell still calls in its own way
And even though it is unheard, has still so much to say.

Those things you see behind closed eyes are more than shades of grey
They are more like the echoes coming back from yesterday,
And all you need to do to is catch them softly in your hand
Then as you arise to wakefulness, you’ll surely understand…

Gauze wings flutter in the sun, as lace embroidered dreams are spun
Upon each day in every way, so much to do, so much to say,
When golden moments form a chain and silver sequins paint the rain
That falls like eyes upon the air, that need to dream but never dare,
And silk intrusions wander by, like mirrors in a mosaic sky
Reflecting every sacred view, from silver dawn to twilight blue,
As whispered locket photos call, to dream leaves as they softly fall
Like ermine angels on the wing, they spirit dance and softly sing.


The gorse in bloom’s vanilla scent can feel almost omnipotent
When moments dally on the air, and fragrant secrets sometimes share
Surreal sensitivity, subliminally blown to me
With such a sense of wonderment, I feel the touch of heaven sent,
Then from the river’s trailing arms, the Summer’s soul sends forth such charms
Resplendently they bob and sway, those remnants of the blessed day
In regal synchronicity, towards the distant waiting sea
And though the evening slowly starts, the day remains in many hearts.


The night wraps swathes of distant grey around the final shards of day
Where loneliness feels comfort kissed, and tucked up in a bed of mist,
Until the hours are bracelet linked, until the final star has blinked
Upon the hours of ebony that roam upon the moonlit sea,
Then suddenly the wheel has turned, the final lantern’s wick has burned
As moments shrink back to a size that makes the evening realise
That dawn is but a breath away, so crystalline the breaking day
And gauze wings flutter in the sun, as lace embroidered dreams are spun…

Hush hung from the morning’s time
A sleepy half awakened rhyme
Composing ever onward lines
Of oh so intricate designs,
Those whisper wafted perfumed things
The dawning day so often brings
Adrift upon awakening air
Silk stencilled dreams that they both share.


Wishes turned within their hearts
Of newborn days, of brand new starts,
And blue eyes squinted at the sun
That clambered golden sequin spun
Towards its throne above the sky
Where only larks and angels fly,
While smile touched smile as soul touched soul
For dawn dreams render all things whole.


Then hand in hand they meadow walked
As intertwined their voices talked
Of why and where and when and who
Of how dreams start two lives anew,
While cornflowers and poppies dance
In sweet reflections of romance,
Like singing geishas as they play
The music of that first born day.


Between the day’s unwinding hours
They walked on sands and bathed in showers
Of sanguine sun and rainbow shade
That flickered as their moments fade
Into that drawn out winding way
That signified the end of day,
Two shadow painted marionettes
Adrift upon their own sunsets…

When I was a child, and my dreams were of gold
I always believed everything I was told,
My faith was implicit, my innocence pure
And magic existed, of that I was sure.

My old uncle Arthur was always in bed
His twinkling eyes sunken into his head,
He told me his stories of dragons and elves
That lived in the books on his library shelves.

On the table that stood at the foot of his bed
Was an old leather box coloured purple and red,
And the lid was embroidered in threads of maroon
With the soft shining face of the man in the moon.

I asked him to show me what rested inside
And he said Press the button, and open it wide!,
Then up from the box, with a deep whirring sigh
Rose a magic mechanical gold butterfly.

It fluttered its wings as it gently spun round
Its beauty serene in the absence of sound,
And I was entranced by its magical flight
As it bathed in the flame of the candles soft light.

As I lay in my bed with my head in a dream
I still could imagine the butterflys gleam,
So I made up my mind to go back the next day
To watch the gold butterfly flutter and play.

But when I got there, the old house was in gloom
My old uncle Arthur was gone from his room,
And even though mother had tried to explain
I never did see uncle Arthur again.

That night I slept soundly, in dreams of delight
At the dawn I awoke to the mornings first light,
And there on my desk, by the side of my bed
Was an old leather box coloured purple and red