An Old Poem...

The Rose and the dream

The dreamer is tired and wants to sleep
for escaping is not what he is meant to do;
found when lost he stood there
within the mist, before the Queen herself.

The Queen, with beauty and a scarlet glare,
smiling,gently, at the tired man.
The Queen, oh beloved Queen!
She had thorns in her hand and petals over her head.

The dreamer's tears were not from pain,
his faint gasps did not come from exhaustion;
nor did his sorrows come from grievous wounds,
but from his euphoria, gone long ago.

Had he not gazed that entrancing stare,
from the monarch of barbs and stems.
Had he not dreamt of her radiant demeanor,
Needless would he be of running away.

But the Queen sits on an opulent throne,
with her crimson servants lying at her feet;
So assured of her victory she is,
That a lifetime advantage she chooses to give.

The Queen just stands, bright and dreary.
Roses arise at her delicate steps.
Arrogant yet pleasing, to the dreamer she walks.
The Queen, oh Queen! Of rose and brier.

"Purpose, just purpose, from you I ask!"
As his spine trembled with an icy clasp.
The dreamer can only see the red and gold
for everywhere else in fog was inmerse.

"My child, my beloved one, purpose it what you ask?
How about your dreams, the euphoria, your light?"
The Queen replies, as spring breeze comes out
From her breathe, every man's demise.

The man, with defeat within his core,
with fatigue and weeps between his spoken voice.
"Why can't I dream beyond thou ocellus,
You profane; you harmonious Queen?"

"Those dreams you covet with your soul;
those which bring joy and affliction.
The sorrow, wistfullness, zeal, and hope;
those memories forged your mere existence".

"Those fixed portraits which build you;
they are but the wings that should lift you,
my stubborn whelp, with them should you soar
the heavens not ever concieved by your kin". 

"These feathers shall take you away, to me.
To your dream, so languished, so infinite.
Nothing before, nothing after; 
Only then, forsaken shade, my permission you have to lull".

The man, tired of fleeing, hating and dreaming;
the teardrops ablaze, as his strengths befall;
Drops his body into the cold, yet warm embrace,
Of the Queen, with petals over her head.

The wind, accompained with the roses, the loyal servants,
gathered swift at the sweet command.
The Queen and his lost child reunited at last,
enclosed together drift, as eternity past.