Dead of Night

In the dead of night I hear her voice calling to me melodiously.

In a sing-song fashion I call back, inquiring: “Whose voice is this I hear upon my ear? that echoes through the night as if a beam of light?”

And she responds: “It is I, whose voice pierces through the dark still night. It is I whose song you hear upon your tender ears.”

And I ask her: “Shall you give me a name to put to this voice? or will I be left to wonder as to whom it is?”

Many moments pass before I hear her soft voice again, this time a small bit closer to where I await her.

“I am the one in your dreams, the one whose voice is like the wind and whose song is always forgotten upon waking. It is I whose footsteps walk the halls, and whose shadow covers the doorways to your nightmares.”

Leaning closer, I wait until the song comes forth from her lips again, those lips hidden by the darkness that comes after nightfall.

My words doused by the song that appeals to all ears, I sit contently until the question again comes to mind.

Again, I inquire: “Whose voice is it that I now hear upon my ear? that flows through the trees as if a pleasant breeze?”

And she replies: “I have already told you.”

Taken aback for but a moment, I inquire further still.
“If you are the one from my dreams, does this mean I am now asleep, and none of this is real?”

Laughter filled the air as I waited for the answer to the question I had asked. It was a while before this laughter died down.

Then I heard her voice again.

“What is a dream but another reality?~”

And then I awoke, and heard the song no more.

That is, not until the next night.