Daisy Dreams

The smell of salt carries memories of then;
entices thoughts of windows and forest's edge.
Pictures burden me with lies stretched thin,
and conflicts pound like hammer to sledge.

Still, my heartbeat leans ever toward you,
palpitating in rhythm to things long since gone.
Its a crazy sort of thing afflicting us too few;
those who fell in love with the passing dawn.

For there in the Ante Meridiem's first thought,
is the promise of all things made attainable.
And that purest wish, the windows caught,
shining radiant as love lost in many a fable.

Standing there, I look upon the golden remains,
of a house built inside my dream's heart of hearts.
The blood red timbers have rotted away their pains,
leaving the ghost of great love to shine its finest parts.