Stretched here in a soft willows embrace
I drift between the sleep and the dreams
where never ever land gathers
and walks a Peter-pan serenade
Along the long corridors of my mind.
I peer into that soft shade of yesterday
like a pauper reaching out for coins
anything that from those memories
May give me a moment of belief.
She sing there in the back drop
her voice, a ghost, a shadow of long ago
The imp, that fairy of my soul
the tinkerbell awakener
that sweeps clean the refreshing moments
In dreams, these rivers of precious thoughts.
Where all possibility holds true the gift
that sight is more than seeing
that life is more than believing
that even here in the quite solitude of thoughts
purpose rings its pleasure
holds fast its key to understanding
And opens up an escape.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph