I’ll dream of tapestry colors,
And wake up to a world that’s not.
Though some of the things in life,
Set itself apart as kind of a color scheme,
Missing them is something too real.

What would it be, if as to feel,
The colors before it’s ensemble;
Rid this one, we’ll keep that one.
Setting apart from one that clashes,
Having it all, is already too real.

The alarm would vibrate,
These colors, are then dispensed.
Reading it well, but slow to wake,
What was it worth, if at all,
Must it only be, of tapestry dreams.

©2007, Ron Globe