The Strange House Of Dreams

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DM W

DM W

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Over the years, the people come and go,
But the strange house of dreams remains the same.
Unlike this world, the pace there is so slow.
There no crude, infantile mind games are played.
There are only magical, golden hours.
Soft secrets unfold moment by moment.
For this house is filled with spectral powers
It is a refuge; truly heaven sent.

DM W

Saturday, December 19, 2020

Topic(s) of this poem: dreams,house

poem poems house games

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COMMENTS OF THE POEM

Shaun Cronick 19 December 2020

And strangely my friend enough your graphic displaying this strange house of dreams mirrors an exhibit abode we have moved brick by brick and now dwells in our outdoor museum. A fine and well scribed poem to grab the attention of an lucky reader, for it certainly has mine. AFS and thank you Dominic for writing and sharing your most ethereal poem.

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