Visions

By Cliff Lake

 

Visions

 

It came to him from nowhere:

So simple,

So new,

So prime for the moment.

“Genius”, said some,

“Madman”, said others,

“Evil” said those that had not thought of it.

He is gone,

His idea remains.

 

A whisper deep,

A prodding in the nerve,

The errant breeze directs,

Then the deed is done.

Angel, muse, or messenger,

In the dreams that drive us.

 

She hummed it over her coffee,

So lilting,

So hypnotic,

So vital in this moment.

“Powerful”, said some,

“Trite”, said others,

“Derivative” said those who did not write it.

The singer is gone,

Her song remains.

 

A murmur low,

Melody in the muscle,

Shadows breathing hints,

Then the song is sung.

Angel, muse, or messenger,

In the dreams that drive us.

 

They seem to come from nowhere:

So complex,

So real,

So filled with astonishing moment.

“Prophetic”, say some,

“Illusion”, say others,

“Nonsense” say those that do not follow through.

Dreams are never gone,

The need remains.

 

A sighing faint,

Songs in the skin,

Scents carry cheer,

Then the design is come.

Angel, muse, or messenger,

In the dreams that drive us.

 

Cliff Lake 4/4/2026

Copyright © Clifford Lake 2026

Location: Wichita, KS, USA

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