Atlantis, Lemuria, First Love, Still Exists In Dreams

The forest by the lake, thick and lush, with kalediscope gold of sunlight.

The cool wind and cold mornings, even in Eden, I hold myself tight.

I sit by the fire at night, dreaming of her song, before I go to sleep.

In my tent, through the top, my dreams go to the depths as stars creep.

In the cold morning, the wind trying to push me back into hiding in the trees,

her song comes up, her head and shoulders above the water, putting me at ease.

Her jet black hair, and candy apple red irises, and pale, moonlight glowing skin

is the siren dream of the day of bittersweet innocence, as my hope grows so thin.

I get into the water with her, and we make a world in the depths of this hidden lake,

and in a loss filled wonder, and in a tender wakefulness, in momentary paradise we partake.

The castles of Atlantis, The wonders of Lemuria, the white sand footsteps of a first love,

we are king and queen, the angels of lost kingdoms, the velvet with out the fist or glove.

And as the stars come up, we float on the water, hand in hand, maybe her tail splashes me,

playfully, and we are on the earth but we can touch the stars, and a kiss will make us light, fitfully.

A whole day with her, without the blood roaring in my ears, or The Devil pulling me under the earth.

She is the bloodshed of dreams and the wholesomeness or a naïve desire, and the dream of birth.

She kisses me, one last time, as I go back to my tent, hanging to our day together, a radiating lightness.

I sit by the fire, and see her bright and raging eyes in the flicks and cracks of flame, in that shifting brightness.

And as I slip away to sleep in my tent, watching the stars pass onwards, the ghosts of life lost but that lingers,

I know I have to go back to the waking world, The Devil’s kingdom, but I will be brave, her smile is in angelic singers.

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