what dreams may come?
from pastoral touches-
to the waving hands of might…
oh so drowsy now!
the cat whisper tickles
as she purrs mightily.
footsteps not far outside your door
neatly crossing paths with an afternoon sigh.
reach outside!
thrust your hand through the empty window,
grasp for your longing
or fade into the blue-white sorrow
never to return!
the hollow, empty hand
the bitter mournful taste.
oh how they come crashing
a million armies strong.
they burst through your sadness!
inflated with light…
-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 12/13/11
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