‘Truths” are very simple, but very difficult to find and adopt.
Softer than feathers shed in morning mist,
She disrobed before the pooling moon.
Her skin, ebony tinted ghost,
Or ivory touched night,
Even the watching owls could not tell,
But I loved her as the dusk upon my dreams.
She slipped into the glasslike sea a fantasy in motion,
I waited for her to rise as a liquid Phoenix,
She did not.
The waters reclaimed her,
Night recalled her to some hidden Atlantis,
And like a thing of legend,
She was vanquished to the ether of my mind.
Did I dream her?
But even dreams are formed from the fabric of truths
And I had so many more to find.