Dreams

Who knows what they are made of
Those moments that stretch into days.
Those scenes that comprehend color
Those bright blues and purples and grays.

I don't think they are made of silver
I don't think they are made of gold
Their texture- so true yet untouchable
Better than the best stories told.

So innocent those unbridled seconds
That end up in sensuous flight
Yet constant as change would have it
To not miss a battle or fight.

A world solely one of a kind
My escape from worldly plights.
Succor and solace reign free
Pure with stealthy delights.

Good and evil both found here
Distance and closeness a snap
Dear one moment then another
Smoke after my eventful nap.

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