Feb 17, 2009 16:16
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I dreamed I walked in a garden of flowers
Caressing the faces of bluebells and roses as they leaned from their borders,
Eager for the touch of my fingers.
The gravel crunched like carpet under my bare feet,
And the scent of spring rain was in the air -
A vivid dream indeed.
I paced closer to the centre of the garden,
Where the path led me to a still silvered angel with water flowing from his outstretched hand.
And (at this point, perhaps realising I dreamt)
I stepped into the fountain,
I placed my hand into his.
His cold smooth lips curved into a smile,
He flexed his wings,
The water stopped flowing.
But my hands were already wet,
And a soft breeze whipped the skirt of my cotton dress.
His marble fingers closed around mine,
And my heart sang.
'Angel,' I asked, a smile playing on my lips,
'How can this be?' For I had begun to doubt my senses.
He didn't reply, just released my fingers
And I was suddenly alone in the garden,
Standing in a small pool next to an empty plinth
And the bright sky laughed at the wrinkled brown leaf
In my outstretched hand.
cassiel,
poem,
angel,
dream