Poetry and Magic

I, obviously, read too much about King Arthur as a child.

I dreamed you were a maiden and
I was a mighty king.
In dreams I can go anywhere,
accomplish anything.

I dreamed us to a place and time
of castles in the sky.
A magic land of poetry
where wishes learn to fly.

The king was sired by fantasy,
an orphan child of rhyme.
He’s Arthur, late of Camelot,
an image out of time.

The maid was born of sorcery,
a magic portrait of
Queen Guinevere of fondest dreams,
the picture of my love.

Awake! Oh sweet reality,
my dreams have all come true.
The poetry lives in my heart…
the magic lives in you.

© 2002 W,D, Neighbors