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by John Stocks

What is it we dream of
when the sun has waltzed the clouds
away and suddenly stilled the sky
to the azure serenity of childhood summers?

Do we dream of mothers
forever young in July dresses
the innocence of early play
the callow softness of our skin?

Or lovers as we doze
the afternoon away
the scents that still ignite desire
the brief fireworks of ecstasy?

Or the drift from eloquence to silence
the infinite contours
of nostalgia
a subtle murmur of some distant now?

Or do we dream of the souls we have lost
the heavy resonance
of those we have loved
when passing clouds
obscure the sun?

Their fears, their hopes, their hopelessness
the thousand dreams we shared
before we were born.

Copyright © 2009 by John Stocks

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