The Realm Of Pretend Poem by Lora Colon

When reality chills me to the bone,
The embers of make-believe are fanned,
Sitting on my garden bench alone,
Tightly I cling to a phantom hand

I sing words of love into the air,
Then wait for their echo to return;
My heart hears a love song, rich and rare,
Soon Love's cooling embers start to burn

I'll not despair, though he's far away,
(Miles of land and sea keep us apart)
No triumphant role does distance play -
In his spirit hands he holds my heart

And when the midnight hour is announced
By a distant bell, my yearnings flare;
Each need and desire is more pronounced
By every chime that pulsates the air

It is then I hasten to my bed
Where my spirit companion awaits;
With every embrace my passion's fed,
Each kiss brings me nearer Heaven's gates

Whispering "I love you" through the night,
I pretend my darling can hear me;
Yet when my eyes absorb dawn's first light,
Sadly, I never find him near me

But I'll cling fast to these wayward dreams
That direct my footsteps as they wend
Past the roiling swells of sorrow's streams,
Into that golden Realm of Pretend