From Ernesto Vargas Rueda
Dreams.
Every once in a while
elements plot
in the steam
of someone’s sight.
And there grows something so fragile
that it becomes transparent.
It is so transparent
that one can take a deep glance.
An in the depths it is white…
so white
that it’s simply pure.
Every once in a while
throw your heart
to the sky,
a dream
could be
ready to condense.
© Ernesto Vargas Rueda
prerrana
October 15, 2011 at 3:25 pmwhat a beautiful song.
Junetta Gillespie
January 9, 2012 at 11:47 pmLovely poem; without stating its subject directly, it conjures up the cloud spirits.
Jen
January 10, 2012 at 10:27 pmAwesome!!!