I Dreamt I Was An Artist

spring with bluebirds9

When I retired one evening,

I dreamt that I was an artist,

Living in Greco Roman times.

My best beloved was a sweet, strong man,

This archetypal Bridegroom… retrieved

From the memory bank of my soul.

Together we painted murals,

Ground from precious gemstones,

On upper class villa walls, as I recall.

We laid exquisite mosaics of colour…

Floated into fantasy walls and floors

And heavenly ceilings of tile.

In the soft, warmth of an evening,

My love and I would clasp each other’s hands…

While strolling through summers’ green, flowering gardens,

And melding into a dreamscape of love.

Awoke, I did suddenly, to my present life…

And that dream-vision, made me joyful smile.

Why does playing in a sandbox of dreams

Open our unconscious memories

And carry us through this difficult life,

As we are walking slowly toward paradise?

Ask Carl Jung, that is his department.

Yet, when I retire this evening,

I pray that I dream again, that I am that lover…artist,

Strolling happily, back in that garden with Him.

By Máire Ní Bhroin

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About desertflower7

I am an artist and photographer who loves to cook, sculpt and play with words in my spare time. I am single and the proud mother of a wonderful son who, along with his beautiful wife, shares a passion for the Arts.
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