Dreams. . .

The Spring winds blow
their cool morning breez
as coffee brews within
and sleepy heads awake
what kind of day will this be
oh a last night that
never should have been
tossing and turning
back aching mornful dreams
purple black staryness
of vivid night shades
mares of grusome details
unshakably real
whenever will the morning break
these dreams i have
turmoils so real
gripping with emotions
bleek with weeping cries
sheets sweat soaked
in morning's chill
yet her warm embrace
awakes with gentle
tones that all is once
again right in the world
and the coffee's brewing
the breakfast made
the day renewed. . .