December 24, 2007

The Dreaming Tree

by me

Thought cannot escape my boughs
Which guard against burdens born of dawn,
Whose light sears and shrivels dry
Thy soul sustaining mirage
Which, as the dew, drips from my blossoms high
Under light of an opposite kind.
Consciousness dare not trespass here,
Else it become ensnared in the web
Of my fingers, whose leaves like razors
Shred that which seeks to awaken thee,
My ward in sleep;
For even morning’s sweet light means nothing
But oppression under the shade of my branches.
My trunk, thick and tall, as a sentinel stands
Over those slumbering betwixt my roots.
Deep and old they are
Full of memories dreamt and felt,
And fallen to dust as putrid ash.
But dream on, my charges, dream.
I shall stand over thee ‘til morn
And cradle your light in jealous hands,
Safe from dawn’s burning scorn.
Only here may you safely weave
Your dreams and airy castles high.
Dream on, dream on,
For night is nigh.

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