I've dreamt of lands,
far and beyond,
Where mourning doves
do sing a song
that is absent of the sadness
which has plagued the one's I've known.

And, here, the days
are longer, so,
In night there's peace
I've never known,
Where little children do not sleep
in fear of monsters perched below -

Their little beds
are filled with naught
but the sounds of restful sleep,
As imagination takes them on a trek
through gallant dreams.

And the nighttime gives to day
a long awaited,
sweet,
reprieve
in which the day may take admiring
all the beauties night conceives.

And, here, the stars shine brighter so
than any star I've ever known,
and, too, behind each twinkling light
there lies a promise in the night:

it's one which speaks of greater lands,
which we can't present envisage,

for anything we might conceive
would, so, fall short from where its come

And, so, they come to us in form of,
ephemeral, night-time, dreams.

Your love is ideal
That's why it doesn't exist.

If my life, within my eye,
Should flash before me as I die,
Pain and doubt will turn a blur
As I recall my time with her.

Of all life; devoid and cold,
Onto just one thing I’ll hold.
Though I’ll lie in disrepair,
Fear will fade, for she is there.