Stolen Dream

Stolen Dream

In meadows deep between two mountains,

I once met a person who told me things they felt certain.

I didn’t know what to do or what to say,

So I sit there on my blanket for the rest of the day.

Billowing overhead both near and far,

Were silver-lined clouds with shapes like fixed stars.

We sit together watching the clouds move slowly overhead,

Not knowing what was pushing them or being filled with dread.

For in the hidden valleys of yesteryears now gone by,

Clouds ushered in weather, and wind, and caused us to sigh.

But not today nor at this moment were we afraid,

Because of the images overhead, their dragons they did slay.

Waiting by the river of tranquility we sat,

Knowing full well that the storm would end the combat.

Tossing and turning and creating things all-new,

The storm’s fingers spread across all that was in view.

It stretched toward us, lashed at us as if we were its brood,

Dipping to touch us, to move us, changing our mood.

From a frolicking child that once sought treasure,

We’d become young adults wanting only pleasure.

A touch, a glance, and a stolen kiss we had,

Knowing if seen it could all mean something bad.

We sit trembling together by the waters blue,

Hoping and praying for something different we two.

Yet, like many other things in life,

It wasn’t to be, neither of us husband nor wife.

Separated by times vast caverns of forgetfulness,

The storm’s winds for years have divided us.

By: Dan R. Fowler

For: Astrid