..                    The Dream In vastest night, a stranded dream-- A stone to mark an endless stream; I walked within its flight of doors Where boomed the light a solid oar To dredge my ship through Heaven's floor. Flowered there a sweetest breeze Which sent through lost a tear of please... To wander was the truest route, And stories we're to be about Were inked by tears which God shed out. Mountains formed of purest mist, Hallways rose as angels wished, Spoke the Lord, and cities lit, Words the steel of buildings built; Chairs of light where we will sit. Opening a book of air, I read a spirit resting there: He turned a page of destiny Where I was written as a tree Whose every leaf an eye to see. My ship grew tired, I grew near Toward the weight of earthly here; The stone sunk roots into the now, The dream recalled the lonely crowds Wherein its power is endowed. © 1999                          John H. Doe