The man by the door in my dreams is me
Conscious of nothing but his hands and feet
Curled inward against the coming storm
Face calmly serene in profile
Wrapped in homespun rags
Sitting on the cold slab of mortality
He sings softly to himself
While clouds roll by overhead
As if waiting for an answering cry
That does not come
The door opens slowly to reveal a face
Full of sorrow and understanding
Swift breezes ruffle brunette curls
Erasing features created by imagination
And fostered by love’s fire
He turns away to face the night
Wordless lips twitching ever so slightly
In harmony with his chaotic world
As if embracing the unknown
That comes too soon
The man by the door in my dreams disappears
To reveal the real man in me.
Sam
Sam's Online Journal 
inspiring poem thanks
You’re welcome, and thank you for your kind words. I will post more poetry this week.