I was reminded to wake
Thinking it had been but some passing dream
Till that light seemed to rise
If not reflect, than emanate
Off the perfection of locks which flowed oft like a stream
Shining too glorious for sight
I saw the sudden thought
Run to my mind that you were in fact so real
That the surrealist painting of night
Which, when heaven had me bought,
Still to this day keeps you in my attention's fields
And there the shards of dreaming lay
Twisting upon the mortal grass
Felled like collared dogs run to their length of rope
But how I pulled them tight that day
With chains round made of glass
For I was no great victor in my conquering of hope
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