A DREAM THAT WILL EVER LAST

He is fragrant; vague like mists upon the summer

morn, drifting forlorn in the limitless vision of

my mind. And I can see him there amidst the

dappled haze of light across the room, half lit

in demure rays.

He is the haven of my dreams; the sense of other-ness

that keeps me watchful, ever caring to his tenderness,

as I wrap his spirit close and enfold myself through

his transient arms.

For I am the captured, and he the captive, keeping

me recluse to the world through the rotting

timbered windows, where lands untouched

lay stagnant from the door, and my eyes beckon only

for the taste of this vision.

For we have lived for centuries in this house,

with its mice and ghosts, and the happy

deathly sigh of other times. Where dreams

weave their fingers through the eaves and dolls

sit fading in their fraying hems.

We are the outsiders, the ones that time could

not diminish. Lost in other worlds with books

and poets, endlessly given to the shades

of other lives, other times.

Where the wind howls across its desolate

glen, through the trees, the thin wispy

hands of branches. Through the eyes of

faded paintings, the ageing tapestries,

the sepia walls, and through his eyes -

that take me to another place, and greet

each day and night like breath to my soul,

as I sit and watch the moments unfold, uncurl

and touch the essence of this other world.

For his are the eyes of God’s own power.

The spell of times fragrant past. The promise

of my hearts desire. A dream, a wish, that will

ever last.

Duncan Campbell Scott