To Listen to Music While Reading this Poem, just Click Here!
Click Here To add this poem to your "Voting Possibilities" list!
I Dreamt That Dream of Her Again Last night I dreamt that dream of her again, The vision of her body spooned to mine In morning like a flower petal when It cannot bloom before the dews decline. Then we were back at High Sierra camps, Where never has a scene been quite so right As she in light of stars and candle lamps, Naked and open, her passions ignite And pull me under the sea of the skies; I'm lost in a forest of moons, and then, She drowns me in the pleasure of her sighs. I would that I could die like that again. But memory is a lover cruel and cheap; Tonight I think I'll drink before I sleep. |
Additional Notes:
A love that, very regretfully, got away. This sonnet was actually written about 10 years ago but its basic expression is still valid for me today. Fortunately, I've found better solutions than those proposed in the final line but the final couplet, I think, expresses one basic reason many people (myself included at various times and by various methods)find escape from reality a preferred state: the cruelty of memory.
Sorry, there are no critiques for this poem in our system... If the poem is older, the critiques have been purged!