Poems ✍️

Poets seek in poems, a truth that's yet to be:
to catch those glories half-formed in the mind,
those tantalising visions which we see
for fleeting seconds; fear may never find

again; yet leave a presence in the air,
the evanescent substance of a dream,
like half-remembered, half-forgotten care,
but known to be more real than they seem;

like friendly ghosts who share our rooms awhile
and conjure memories of their treasured kind:
a scent; a taste; a light; an echoed smile
from knowledge of some farther truth in mind:

O these are angels, heralds of the whole;
a golden rain that showers the dreaming soul.