I dream:

The pure white bird flutters and calls
To me and speaks, as I explore
The valleys of violets
The periwinkles and poplars
Swaying and singing to me
But there is unease
A silence startles the flowers and trees
A sadness sweeps across the valley
The flowers wilt, the leaves fall swiftly.
What speaks to me?
so deceitful and sly
Curiously, I follow
But no longer hear the
Fluttering of the dove
So pure and gentle
I lose focus, I am
Quiet, drained, lost.
That voice that lies and screams
And shackles the dove
That binds it, and captures it
And leaves it to ache.
The dove is faithful
And patient as it leaves
This earth
To be born again
The mighty lion
That does not bow.

About the Author
Ashley Mueth is a student at Southern Illinois University Carbondale studying English Literature and Classics. She is involved in poetry club, classics club, and Sigma Tau Delta. She currently lives in Makanda, Illinois.