I sometimes hear the whisper of my softly spoken name.
Sometimes I hear them tapping, upon the window frame.
Or I can see their shadows dart, like the flicker of a flame.
And then I hear them, temptingly, invite me to their game.
The sceptics queue to tell me, that it’s all within my head.
And some will claim that what I hear, are spirits of the dead.
Or nightmare demons of the mind, that drift around my bed,
Then creep about my room at night, with slow and mournful tread.
But I have seen the green man’s face, in leaves upon the trees,
I listened to the wood nymph’s song, upon a summer breeze.
I’ve heard the mermaid’s mournful cry, across the stormy seas,
And found the little cots of moss, where wee-folk take their ease.
Should you scoff, or should you think that cold science answers all,
Be ready then, and answer clear, if you hear the whispers call.
Go join their game and you may find what miracles befall.
Let stardust beams transport you, to the night-sprites counsel hall.
No Oberon will greet you there, no Titania’s regal beam.
For they are but the figments of, an older poet’s “Dream”.
But you will glide with elfin guides across a silver stream,
Where unicorns and wyverns dwell, and gold dust flowers gleam.
There they may grant that which you seek, which could be peace of mind.
Or strength, not of the savage beast, but of an inner kind.
And when you leave that dream-built vale, maybe you’ll feel inclined,
To see new joy in simple things and leave dull care behind.
So morning breaks, and daylight wakes your sleep befuddled brain.
Was it a dream, that arcane realm, that mysterious domain?
Do you sense peace within your soul? A lessening of pain?
Accept the gift, and question not, things no one can explain.