Poe et here

DREAMS

How sweet the dreams that dress the night
That fire one’s heart with brief delight
Undispelled by morn’s first light
And breathed throughout the day.

Sonnets poured from poet’s tongue
Heart’s miseries and joys are sung
On which his hopes and fears are hung
His soul bared on display.

And you, the Golden Haunt of dreams,
The Mystery lure of scented steams
Vapors formed to contoured schemes
Morosely held at bay.

How long before my self awakes…
An empty room, save bleared opaques
You, lost again as dream forsakes—
Carpe-Diem–Seize the Day!

Jon Jacobs c 2009