Under A Dusk Sky

VERNAL DREAMS

Once upon a night in spring I've dreamed about a faceless thing,
Thing I thought was ever faceless yet unveiled after I figured
That he was a soul I know, A traveler I, just once, know,
Know about his subsistence—and I to enamor of him.
Whom it is, I ought to hush.

And the tranquil air caress each distinct flowers I have sown—
In the fertile soil of my dreams—leave them be to bloom in spring,
Till the goblets opened and the wind to kindle pollens to—
Every edge, and corners of my dreams that never will be dead,
Dead from all the dreams I dreamed.

And that thing that showed itself was nothing but a nameless figure—
Just a nameless figure I have known yet never recollected,
Though at once I never liked him; rarely had I noticed him,
And here I am dreaming of him, sown his face for me to dream,
To rerun every petals then.

The flowers bloomed within my dreams, I took them all and bring with me
And placed them on each pages of the parchment I will ever keep—
The colors I know might vanish, but ‘tis the scent that lives for ever,
For the parchment shall remember the only fragrance that he's left,
The smell of memories not fade.

And another dream sojourned my fancy sleeping into life—
The faceless thing would come to speak, yet does he speak? Surely he'd not;
He wore a locket on his chest, smaller, not bigger than a leaf.
And that locket, never opened, locked and yet he needed key,
Why would he seek for a key here?

Why in my dreams would he intrude? Does he not know what this place is?
"Pardon," said I, "what do you intend for here, sir, may I ask?"
Never was I mistaken he'd sojourn here to never speak—
"Shall I reword," quoth I, "sir, I humbly entreat your intention;
What do you intend for here?"

Only then I never wish insist him respond to my query;
And the plain obscure visage of his dome was not even moving,
I was never fearful for he'd sojourn often just to stand—
Though I never saw his eyes yet, I do know he watch me sow
All the wellsprings I collected.

Then I left my dreams again, and also him—the thing—therein;
And wait until another night would let me visit them again,
For flowers bloom over the day aft I leave all the wellsprings sown—
In the seedbed earth of my dreams, vernal from March to July,
Yet 'tis vernal—evermore!

Hence the dusk had come to take my bleary body there to sleep,
And drift to sleeping through the portcullis of my dissecting dreams—
A rain, a light, a wind would come and feed the wellsprings that I sowed,
And there I stood to witness all the flowers had just effloresced;
And there he stood waiting for me.

I told myself to never speak for all I know he'd never speak—
I told myself to never look for all I know he'd never look;
His eyes resurfaced, so his lips, his nose ascend, and so his ears
He stared at me and then he smiled; he smelled the scent and heard the wind—
"Will you help me find my key?"

"Truly," said I, "I will gladly help you find your long lost key."
In the vastness of the glade doubtless will we never find it—
The key he seeks for just to open what's inside the locket be,
Perhaps 'tis an image of him—or maybe his lover's be;
Nothing I found, but his key.

Here he opened wide the locket and the icon glowed like daylight,
Stood I, gaze there, ruminating whom the image will it be?
And my countenance it wore off seeing whom the image be,
There was no one, yes! No one! No one. Someone, but just me?
Faceless figure—who is he?

Whom is he, but here, he kept me in his locket, not I know.
I woke and saw a blinding light and here I sat to muse upon
A wellspring I once sowed yet bloomed therein, and never been took—
To be placed between the pages of the parchment I will keep;
“Fabian.” Whispers quietly.
 
In my vernal dreams did he exist but never in my eyes;
The flower that I once have sown, waiting for me to pluck it up;
And yet that token he left let me recollect him just for once—
Thus for once is merely fair to venerate the sown wellspring
Of memories I’ve thrown away.