‘The Dream’ and Other Poetry by Judah LoVato The Society January 15, 2013 Poetry The Dream I dreamed a dream of two parades so different, yet the same, And I could not place the meaning of the first parade that came. Along a road lined with many leafless and grey, dying trees A black parade moved slowly forward trailing grief and unease. Soft silence overwhelmed silence, and silence soft silence grieved, Making sobs erupt from hearts burdened heavy and long bereaved, Blinding eyes with hopeless dark; that trudging future no one sees. Thus the first parade had come and a second followed after, I could not place which was the slave and which one was the master. For I dreamed a dream of two parades so different, yet the same, And I could not place the meaning of the next parade that came. Along the road of the first parade, where grieving silence hung, A bright parade, a colored party, came marching and they sung Soft strains of music which wafted light from flutes and drums and horns, Making flowers bloom and the trees bud with sprightly vibrant thorns, Blinded eyes with mirthful tears; their sins upon a tree are strung. I woke again when the morning came, my dream began to fade, And I could not place the meaning that was found in that parade. Ever Must He Wake Ever must he wake so early Before the greater world awakes And with gestures sleepy surly Pot of coffee makes. Then his mug from cupboard takes Pours himself an earthy brew Then drinking deep he finds strength anew. Then he leans, with his mug in hand, ’Gainst the counter to gaze outside And sees white flakes, as vast white sand, Tears while falling dried. Thinking thus he turns aside, Pours himself another brew Then drinking deep finds his strength anew. Always must he wake so early Before the rest of the world wakes. Then, with gestures dreamy surly, Black drip-coffee makes. His mug from his cupboard takes Then pours himself warm black brew Deeply drinks and finds his strength anew Judah was born April 1992 and raised on a ranch in rural Wyoming. When he was twelve years old he started keeping journals and writing poetry, though it wasn’t until late in his college career that he started writing with serious intent. To date, Judah has written a quantity of poetry, one novel, a variety of short stories, and has accumulated stacks of personal ‘notes and scrawlings’ which he consults for inspiration. Currently, Judah is attending college in Montana where he is studying Literature and Communications. This poem is among the entries for the Society of Classical Poets’ 2012 Poetry Competition. Related Post ‘To a Red-Winged Black Bird on the Advent of Spring... To a Red-Winged Black Bird on the Advent of Spring For some a robin heralds in the Spring. Others: a crocus or a daffodil. My old man claims it’s... Tell the world:FacebookTwitterTumblrPinterestRedditLinkedInEmail Leave a Reply Cancel Reply Your email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email.