As banal, waking life loses its charm
And the horizon of being draws near
The domain of dreams seems a more fertile farm
Where pleasure and wisdom grow without fear
When your lovely countenance manifests
From the nebulous, nocturnal vapor
I read, in your eyes, ancient palimpsests:
Traces of a text from a time before
We lost respect for the sight of closed eyes
For the sage, somnambulistic seeker
Your gaze seems impossibly clear and wise
Compared to your own, my mind feels weaker
Which makes me thirst for a drink of your thought
By you, I yearn to be loved, and thus, taught
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Nota Bene: An introduction to folklore and myths associated with the Celtic goddess of dreams, Caer Ibormeith, for whom this poem was written, can be found here:
About the Creator
D. J. Reddall
I write because my time is limited and my imagination is not.
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