Tuesday, January 24, 2017


Ah yes, the stars were burning bright
When last I saw the light  in your eyes;                                               
But  you were gone  at summer’s end
Before these snows began to rise...
Wrap rugs around me,
I  sense  Mind in the deep…
Which I  embrace as it embraces me;
I dream in  bed as I’m half awake,                                    
 Songs  sing  faintly in the trees
I walk dream regions  light bright with ice,
 Travel soundlessly cross frozen seas;
I read  this  ancient record
        with tales of you,                                        
 Whispered faintly on the breeze.                                                                     
As I dream across the snows 
Down every road you showed
       to me:
Where you have gone I must learn to go
I will follow this path to thee .                                                   *
The story is a long one:
         in every place, 
 There is a record of your wanderings;                           
You found emeralds in the East,                                
 True wealth in the hidden place,                                                                  
Here where   where you found your unity.                         
There are angels whose names no man knows,
A chorus of saints  watch over you;
 And the fallen ones and the rolling beast,     
Cannot prevent my return to you.
There are demons  whose names                          
      I will not speak,
Ones not bound by mortality;
A ship with red sails  from the East       
Brings remnants of your archaeology.    
 I too am going to that holy place,
Across the river with its shades;
It will be morning before I wake,
As the boatman sings   to me...
I know this dream now will not fade:    
 I pray the  Lord our  soul  to keep.
                       *  *  *
                                                                                                                          ©2014 by  W.G.Milne

This poem follows part one which is: "To The Magnificence of the Lord."

I'm not sure where these poems come from,
but I write them invariably at night.

I get the sense of travelling vast distances in
my sleep, that somehow I visit other houses and
lands to the points of light where Consciousness
resides.  My form of meditation I call, "Dreaming
While Awake." In this deep state of awareness
between waking and dreams, this is where I travel
and this is where these poems come from.

Somehow I visit distant lands, drawn by the Minds
who call to me. All I can say is in this different
state of conscious, travel is possible on the wings
of the Mind, the dark winds of the soul.

(C) 2016 by W.G Milne

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