In the dreamy fields of the joy where spirits were not awakening, she left herself astray, and of the dull reality, herself disdain. Her brain dismay of a waking life where her very heartbeat shall be —mortal.
In its vivid colouring of night vision —dreams—has been for her the summer grass in the summer sky,
The stars shone in lofty autumn dusk—
The ethereal golden air of woodland elf's rill—
Herself a Queen, her slaves The North, and The South Stars —
Sky's universal throne within her own grasping
The throne of her own imagining
Life was no longer for her escape routes—
But rotten relics to be entombed deep—
As of the requiem of the loveliest dead
For it's dull to still gaze upon higher heavens—
In the fervid flickering of lowly life when nothing earthly congealed her life's flamming calamity
she has tho— been happy but in dreams!
she has tho— been happy and loved in dreams!
Shall not she be from dreams awakening
For that has brought her soul the loveliest things
None resemblance in reality could ever bring
She lost and sleep in eternal dreams
of Paradises and loves and thrones—
where all are her own!
©blvckmvds
B