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I dream of you /
As I slumber /
Knowing that sequestration /
Is not the eternal fate of this starry-eyed vagrant. /

I believe, in the power of love, /
I know that faith is my redeemer; /
Therefore, I beseech the aethers, /
That you will one day be by my side. /

In the light of love, we are made intemerate, /
We are, like a baptistery, washed clean, /
Anointed in this hallowed elixir /
I do not relinquish my hope. /

(—Se’ lah)
Drawn was I to those eyes,
to see through your light.
When your loo blew ashore,
it capsized me inside.

Down beneath the willows,
where you'll lay your beauty,
Where I'm yours, in the green,
to breathe your calm breeze.

Daylight shines in your face,
as the hair cascades through.
Over the hills and far away,
you're painting me with you.

You're leading this bloke to life,
where I could drown in glee.
I feel you calming the soul,
my divine aura as I seek thee.

Rippled a thousand times,
to know you're still there.
The heavens will keep my spirit,
beside your grave to share.

They say I'll hum new chorus,
if you drown me in your dime.
To think I'm a fool, for I've
found my heart up this time.

In deepest waters, you found me,
made me into something new.
Your rhythm keeps me in time,
to know that I'll carry on for you.

I'll pen this reverie,
as I yearn for your sight.
Your the ritual I need,
as I'm drawn to your light.
irinia Nov 2023
an embrace without a lost paradise
your cabaret words like a trance
I walk through the corrosive noise
I find my way to your footsteps on narrow streets
you hardly look back at your traces when they erase your touch from the map of time
so painful the hands left alone
you are touched by a melancholy impossible for some mornings
I am touched by reverie, entropy and memory
next desire on display a stain or a broken destiny
the weight of our shadows unknown
a foreign tissue is carrying the profoundness of thoughts
bear with me this heart tarred with pain

a moon song be the night
when trees remember how deep their dreams run
Jamesb Nov 2023
444 months ago,
Give or take a few,
And 444 miles it seems,
Are time and distance
That define a tragedy
Of my youth,

For I was too much the gentleman
And the officer,
And you in your beauty
And naivete
Or so I thought

Too young to read
The signs carved in words,
Roads miles driven,
Time in dinghy upon the Dart,
To hear the words unsaid,
Torn from my very heart,

So 444 miles were complete,
444 months sailed past
As once past Sandquay we
The time we were allowed,
And DQ sanction held me fast

Lucy in the sky will sing no more,
To an audience made of one,
And ghosts of younger thee and me,
Still mourn what we might have won,
And older wiser heads and hearts,
Will wonder ever more,

What might,

Have been
Funny how ones youth sometimes catches up....
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2023
I am a Taken Poet ~ “The Wreckage of Your Silent Reverie”^

<6:45 AM Sat June 3>

again and again, a peculiar lyric
more than provokes, ******, injects,
no mere head buzzing, sledgehammer
beheaded, no under skin, in my pores,
shedding,reabsorbed, replaying the replay,
until I, will-less, commanded endlessly,
induced, besplay my irritants into my
“take,” for I am an overtaken poet, searching relief

too well, the wreckage refuse of these
silent reveries consume us, and I shriek,
contemplating the years of holey falling,
not hours or days, not weeks or months,
spent in rigorous dreams, facing & escaping,
my guilts, my fork failures, bottling & pouring,
with no relief from screams, head-banging,
nightmare visitations and inarticulate moans

until they form words, projectile ejected,
pollutants upon a clean, white background,
and dispatched to the heavens or nether land,
and to you, here in poem form that brings but a
modicum crumb of relief that empties, buying
time, knowing full well, my cup runneth over and
fresh replacement troops are eager, readily available,
by joining the seesaw border war, splitting my halves

my halves for I am not whole, I am deboned,
and slices fall off of these trough of words,
these statements of fact & fission, uninformed forms,
even worse, formed formlessness reciting repetitive,
inescapable  escapades, dead-ended hell highways,
these poems, all carcasses of me, roadside ****, until,
someone unseen, unknown invisible, removes them
to the largest refuse pile in world, a inutile poem heap

even this epistolary of diary entries offered down for
your bemusement, my expulsionary relief, give but
the briefest analgesic, and a newest version of an oldest
reverie, old friend, comes like the unending beeping,
of a dying battery of a fire alarm, squeaking, unrelenting,
unresponsive to curses or begging till the last ounce
of its energy is consumed, so too I, impatient squeak words,
too many contemptuously familiar yet well hid in new combos,

temporarily pulled from the wreckage of my silent reverie

~~~~~~~~~~~~<7:45 AM>~~~~~~~~~~~~

^ “Oh this glorious sadness
That brings me to my knees
In the arms of the angel
Fly away from here
From this dark cold hotel room
And the endlessness that you fear
You are pulled from the wreckage
Of your silent reverie

You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here
You're in the arms of the angel
May you find some comfort here”

Source: Musixmatch
Songwriters: Sarah Mclachlan
gray overcast chilly Saturday morn,
listening to the chirping of a dying battery,
reminding me of my mortality and
my other stuff.
Eloisa Mar 2023
And then there’s something special
in my solitary journey
Pristine sands aglow like pearls
Us, enjoying the serene, silky sea
This aching reverie, bitter-sweet memories
Our hands rowing our boat
Our dancing rituals under the moon
Chasing the sunset, enjoying the sunrise
How I long for those happier days
How I yearn for our lost serendipity
And so I pray for light and colors
For the radiance that once so bright
A whisper of prayer for our lost serendipity and splendor
And so I send my wishes through the joyous unceasing winds
Requesting the stars to keep track of us
Though our destinies may not again collide
Anggita Indari Aug 2022
I remember it was cold and quiet. We stood up beneath the scattering stars.

Silently staring at the landscape outspread in front of us, where the mountain touched the sky.

Losing count on the steps taken, you wondered how many dreams townspeople had to reach the summit tower seen from afar;

Spreading lights randomly with no purpose to guide. Little yet arrogant. Like a candlestick being put on the top of the world, accidentally.

Or maybe, incidentally placed to embody the messiah for those who would discover it that way — which might be peculiarly irrational.

Despite the lame fact, it still mesmerized you. I just knew the moment your starry eyes were seen in the dim night. And out of the blue, it captivated me too.

We sneaked from the despotic night, releasing laughs from the deepest and most untouched alley in our lungs. Our fears were freed.

Nonchalant towards the thing ahead of us, even to the time that felt prematurely withered.

"I remember once this priest brought hope to our house, and we just followed him since then", you said. That’s how you told me that miracle wasn’t the thing that kept us living, but hopes that enlightened.

Unyielding lost in the most chaotic ecstasy I have ever encountered. It became that moment when a knock on the door wouldn’t be able to break our reverie.

Modest. Humble.

We then walked unafraid through the open door that led us to the home where the sun rises.
Unpolished Ink May 2022
it's a place to dream
a warm afternoon
with a thought ice cream
and idea sprinkles
tea by
the sea,
I travel
I close my
eyes, and
the soft
waves of
the pearls
of reverie,  
I will
as I have
I forget
the dew
falling from
this heart
of mine,
and heal.
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