Spun from a dream

For the longest time she was an abstract idea,
something I Dreamed when my eyes were closed,
And no one was listening.
Something answered my call,
Made real the dream,
Gave her a name.
It was as if the gods reached into my dreams,
And conjured what they saw.
Do they give with one hand and take with the other?
I fear the answer.
I could gild myself in words and bravery,
Or I could expose the trembling heartwood underneath,
In all its reverberating imperfection.


About Fredrik Kayser

Everything is connected.
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