Poem by Dan Stone
“Be careful what you
wish for,” I’ve heard
more times than
I recall. “Words have power.”
But not so much
in this here and now.
Not much at all.
Not in this dawn,
this gloam, the stillness
of this hour
when language
seems to bow, defer
to images and scenes.
Reality. Imagination.
Either way the messages
are singing, humming,
honeysuckle sweet
and twilight clear.
Everywhere I look
I feel at home.
My wish is coming true.
Life richer than a dream
is blooming at my feet
as rainbows, flames,
in shapes and colors
I can’t count or name
or read in any book.
Messengers are winging
from a heaven
I can sense but barely see,
a blur of beauty’s truth
confirming, clarifying me,
bringing more than
I can hope or say,
and everything
I always knew could be.
“Be careful what you
wish for,” I’ve heard
more times than
I recall. “Words have power.”
But not so much
in this here and now.
Not much at all.
Not in this dawn,
this gloam, the stillness
of this hour
when language
seems to bow, defer
to images and scenes.
Reality. Imagination.
Either way the messages
are singing, humming,
honeysuckle sweet
and twilight clear.
Everywhere I look
I feel at home.
My wish is coming true.
Life richer than a dream
is blooming at my feet
as rainbows, flames,
in shapes and colors
I can’t count or name
or read in any book.
Messengers are winging
from a heaven
I can sense but barely see,
a blur of beauty’s truth
confirming, clarifying me,
bringing more than
I can hope or say,
and everything
I always knew could be.