The Dream is Calling

I hear the sound, the call, the silent word
Within the heart as it begins to herd
Those few that are hued; And even some who
Heard of the call begin to tread to you
Who make it's color, who dreamed it's order
Of black and white hue. Yet how that sword her
Son still carries gleams within your white hand,
Pale in the sun, cold in the moon lit land.
Will she be willing to bequeath such sheen
To someone who feels that he's in a dream?
For sound men are sounded out and broken,
Yet dreamers cannot be sounded out when
They are told to act; for they know better
In a dream they are confident, and sure.

                    The Dream is Calling, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012