My dreams sometimes
come as birds, and they talk.
A magical happening,
away from deaths eager plate.
They talk of solitary souls
and phantoms abound.
And cherry trees
that kiss away the rain.
Am I dead?
Or wrapped in your
adoring spirit?
Simple, deep and inside out
My dreams sometimes
come as birds, and they talk.
A magical happening,
away from deaths eager plate.
They talk of solitary souls
and phantoms abound.
And cherry trees
that kiss away the rain.
Am I dead?
Or wrapped in your
adoring spirit?
A Wandering Poet 