Midnight Lovers

This poem is based off of a series of three really weird dreams I had.

Last night, she met you in the garden,

behind the white picket fence.

She used the key to your heart,

and that gate dropped all defense.

 

The key slid in, the gate opened.

She stepped in, and you looked up.

No words were spoken.

 

No words were spoken but feelings danced.

Carressed.

Embraced.

Hearts embelished sleeves, and you two were entranced.

 

Entranced and stunned by each other's grace.

In awe, and admiration of your midnight lover's face.

Lace, you wore, white lace, Oh, the Irony,

but it was a pleasant deviation from the road of monotony.

 

She was gorgeous, despite night's cloak.

Her presence was Intoxicating, though her cheeks were soaked.

 

Life had beaten her down again,

so you offered her a shoulder.

Her emotions were building up, and about to boil over

so you offered her an ear.

 

Even though it was hard for you.

It hurt you to listen to what she needed you to hear.

 

When she left the garden, your heart ached, and your eyes burned.

You wondered aloud , "Is this love? Or will it be?

The type of love that makes history?

Love that sings from sea to sea?

Love that rings like insanity?"

 

You were unsure, but you hoped it could be.

You had always romanticized insanity.