Glass of Colors

I reside amid the valley of stone washed dreams... They speak to me in shadowed syllables about our flight, which may never come to be... Can this ladder of realism be climbed as you indicate? Stepping from my box, the light smothers my mind as yesterdays’ moments trace my broken steps into a mirage of broken stones; a tangled bridge will not allow me to cross where your promises are swirling; where your sweet love beckons me... The clouds sweep ore me in shimmering smiles as your lips whisper down the golden sun; your hands become soft petals that caress me as your words melt me; Sunday morning, coming down... Walk me carefully into your thornless rose world as you section me into a glass of colors; remove this fluid pain... Promise me the moon from your distant mindset... until my purple window mirrors you, in fullness