Oh that I were a poem,
I would stand at the entrance of your dreams,
For it is there that true poetry has no restrictions
My words would saturate your subconscious,
Forming emotional structures of worth
A guardian of stanzas I would prove to be,
As I would not permit nightmares to approach your pillow
On your longings I would place a sail,
And you would be carried by your hearts desire
For a poems resting place is in the heart of another,
And if by chance it finds approval,
It will awaken during the day,
And be remembered
Sweet Dreams
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