The Death Of Love

I lie within my hammock of dreams;
on a dreary, starless night;
aware of contrasting story themes;
only my mind has sight.

Thoughts of voices, emit no sounds;
as darkness and light, collide;
a clash of a lightning strike, resounds;
with a story image, inside.

A dream, I’d had, many times before;
a woman’s image; a shadowy mist;
gently flowing through a wooden door;
an image of the last love, I kissed.

I recalled the first time, love and I met;
walking, hand in hand, in the dark;
it’s a time, in my life, I’ll never forget;
it’s memory, both vivid and stark.

Time stood still within my dream;
love drew me gently near;
I felt the sound of a flowing stream;
love diminishing all fear.

Suddenly reality overcame my dream;
and soon; its memory is gone;
it’s rushing water; in a flowing stream;
meanwhile, my life goes on.

I rarely dream of my love anymore;
it was the time when I cried;
on the day I lost the love I adore;
the day all my love died.

Monty 7/21/24. # 2,229