I
Within the haze of dream, a girl appears,
Her face familiar, though I know her not.
In pink-clad grace, she banished all my fears,
Yet mystery veils the memory I've got.
Upon the path, she steered me to a hill,
Where blossoms bloomed beneath a sky unclear.
Though waking thoughts can't shape her form at will,
The scene endures, so strange and yet sincere.
She spoke of views unseen, of paths untrod,
Her voice a melody to soothe my soul.
We climbed together, steps where none had trod,
Towards a secret glimpse of nature's whole.
What purpose called her into this strange sphere,
To guide my heart through landscapes past unclear?
II
A slope alive with whispers of the breeze,
The flowers sang their songs to skies of gold.
She held me tight; her warmth put time at ease,
And dreams became a story yet untold.
Of hotels spoke we, near a river’s bend,
The names now blurred, their grandeur cast aside.
Her lips did falter, pulling threads to mend
A tale of loss, of burdens borne inside.
The words she muttered, "I won't do it more,"
Unraveled secrets I could not divine.
Between her breaths, the echoes of a war—
Love’s shadowed past she hoped to redefine.
The hill and whispers faded; dreams took flight,
To other realms of shifting day and night.
III
And there again, the cobbled streets arose,
Where friends appeared, unbidden, pulling threads.
A motor roared, and onward did it go,
To gates of stone, where lantern light was spread.
Through ancient towns with crimson petals strewn,
The echoes called, though meaning slipped away.
Each turn a riddle cast beneath the moon,
As visions danced, refusing yet to stay.
What is this dream—a map or aimless whim?
Its logic torn by shadows’ fleeting flare.
And yet, its fragments hum a mystic hymn,
Of truths unseen, their meanings laid so bare.
I wake and wonder: is the dream my own,
Or whispers borne from lives I’ve never known?