A black feather dances its way to wooden floors <br />I am buried in my sheets and unwilling to acknowledge you <br />Stubborn Daemon, you both bring and maculate dreams of her <br />Her face is lost somewhere between lucid and wake <br />What good are hollowed prophecies? <br />No sustenance, and nothing to gain <br />Only a frantic assurance that I one day will meet- <br />Her. <br />In passing, a glimpse will sop a tear <br />And I will hold her hand <br />A crowded street <br />The busiest marketplace <br />A solitary trail <br />Her, deserving of all my infinite kisses <br />I am aware of your labor and order <br />Know that I will love and hate you until I am gone <br />But promise me, dark shadow, now perched on splintered rafter <br />That you will not cease to bring me madness <br />You bring hope, ardent hope.<br /><br />Jonathan Alford<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dreams-are-sometimes-made-of-feathers/
