Spring Dream

Spring rolls in like mist on a lake.

Dawn belongs to the Spring.

The renewal of Life

to awake from long hibernation.

It’s all a dream

of waking from a dream

where sleeping is all that we knew.

Spring is a cat stalking the first robin of the season.

Spring is skinny-dipping on a Nooner.

Impulse impaled on a ritual

electric, yet primeval,

Romance confounding all Reason.

Vibrant intensity balancing cool hues of pastel

Caution giving way to Compulsion,

Heaven infiltrating Hell.

It’s all a dream…it’s only a dream

that smart lives forbid us to tell.

Spring is as moist as the forbidden honey of a passionate tryst

consummated going home from a funeral…

A cry of joyous outrage

railing against tedious Death.

Spring is the most recent

loss of Innocence,

naughty, and yet still naïve.

Stolen kisses on a warm afternoon.

The days we most love to remember.

It’s all a dream.

The lewdest of dreams

                           from which we do not wish to be awoken.

We spring to action

and come to Life.

The fountain of life is but a spring.

The clock would stop

but for its ever-taught spring, and

Hope springs defiantly eternal

as a song springs to our lips.

Spring isn’t as much a season

as it is new eyes

with which we view

our same old wintry lives.

It’s all a dream of dream within a dream.

If you’re lucky you’ll never awaken.

Sculpture (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Double Dream of Spring (Photo credit: Wikipedia)