An amazing thing
Is the heart
Beating strong
Life-long
But here’s the sting:
Some come apart—
Hardened with age,
Or filled with rage—
And fail.
Some are supple and soft,
But for all their calm,
Their dreams aloft,
Even seeking Gilead‘s balm,
They will yet wail.
Time has passed
Since I awoke
Dreams saline-soaked—
Streams of a lass.
Though I knew her name,
I knew not why tears came
Streaming down her face.
Oh, if I could her sorrow replace!
She sat three rows in front.
I wondered to what affront
These brooks belonged.
For knowledge I longed.
So of my dream-guide
I enquired discretely,
Who replied so sweetly,
“On thy account she cries.”
Dreaming still, I motioned
For her to come talk with me
Away from the people-ocean.
I took her by the hand
Beyond the people-sand—
For all her tears she could barely see.
Through stifled sobs
The reasons for her sorrow
She revealed.
To reasons for hope I appealed;
Her pain my heart did harrow,
With handkerchief I daubed
Until heart beats
And desire’s throbs
Did meet.
I awoke with a start
My thoughts darting:
Was it real? No, just a dream;
Tears ephemeral.
But now I wonder
Have I blundered?
Have my actions been cause
For her to pause?
When she is where I can’t look,
Have tears streamed down her cheek?
When I’m not where I can take a peek,
Has she formed those saline brooks?
Or is her heart
Safely at rest
In a simple chest
Of bone, and sinew, and flesh?
Copyright © 2013 H.K. Longmore
- Done Trying (crazyhotmess1995.wordpress.com) – Though most certainly not the inspiration for this poem, this post captures the idea of the sorrow in the dream.
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