A dream within a dream

Photograph The longing of a ghost by Bright soul

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
s all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Poem: A dream within a dream, by Edgar Allen Poe.

Petite fantome

Photograph by Renoux

I dream my future * Ik droom mijn toekomst

Gravel rustle under my feet
Thoughts wandering to expired times
Tomorrow is yesterday sighs the sinking sun
I dream my future into oblivion.

Grind knispert onder mijn voeten
Gedachten dwalen naar voorbijgegane tijd
Morgen is gisteren verzucht de zinkende zon
Ik droom mijn toekomst in vergetelheid.

Momo Luna

Then shall you truly dance

Photograph by Cathy from One pink goose.

DEATH
You would know the secret of death.
But how shall you find it
unless you seek it in the heart of life?
The owl whose night-bound eyes are blind
unto the day cannot unveil the mystery of light.
If you would indeed behold the spirit of death,
open your heart wide unto the body of life.
For life and death are one,
even as the river and the sea are one.
In the depth of your hopes and desires
lies your silent knowledge of the beyond;
And like seeds dreaming beneath the snow
your heart dreams of spring.
Trust the dreams,
for in them is hidden the gate to eternity.
Your fear of death is but the trembling of the shepherd
when he stands before the king
whose hand is to be laid upon him in honour.
Is the shepherd not joyful beneath his trembling,
that he shall wear the mark of the king?
Yet is he not more mindful of his trembling?
For what is it to die
but to stand naked in the wind and to melt into the sun?
And what is to cease breathing,
but to free the breath from its restless tides,
that it may rise and expand
and seek God unencumbered?
Only when you drink from the river of silence
shall you indeed sing.
And when you have reached the mountain top,
then you shall begin to climb.
And when the earth shall claim your limbs,
then shall you truly dance.

Khalil Gibran

angels

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