From the Pocket of a Dream
In the depth of my heart there is a secret land. There, beneath the lonesome shadows of lavenders purple buds, in the very core of my imaginary garden, a never withered flower rests on one soft pillow of lace.
It breathes quietly, along with my sorrowful roses of black, side by side with the tiny chamomile petals of patience. It sleeps next to my friendless orange lillies of hatred, yes, on the shoulder of my precious white chrisanthemum of candor. It shares life with a dussin of my respectful daffodils, protective begonias, it bathes in the sweetness of magnolia blooms.
It spreads tenderness to my wicked selfish narcissus, it gives away love to my cautious and shy oleanders. It whispers calmly to the dandelions at nights, when the clouds obscure the moon and when the faith runs short. All against the despair. All about the wishes come true. It watches over my faithful irises and protects my treasured white jasmine.
Gently, like a lightly touch of the paintbrush upon my ivory canvas, it weaves the threads of warmth, drawing an unforgetable picture by its invisible pencil.
An image caught within the nearly frozen mirror of life, my faraway memory from one strange, prodigious dream.
The remembrance. A splendor sparkling in the dark. The unfading flower of love glowing forever by an amaranthine glance.
© Eclipse 2011
Image by weheartit.com
Shared on The Gooseberry Garden
and Romantic Friday Writers