Waking Dream

I thought the dreams were marble, and tried to sculpture you.
I used my eyes as chisels, and murmurs were your mould.
My restless sleep is there my workshop to unfold,
And to imprint your image in everything I do.

It’s been a while since dreaming escaped into the real,
Or, maybe, glimpse of real invaded all my dreams.
My daily lonely wonder’s no longer what it seems,
And every waking moment your touch I seem to feel.

I know the morning shadows are weaving their map.
If it’s a dream, please, whisper. I don’t want to wake up.


Virgiliu Pop
Glasgow, December the 12th, 1999