Purple dream comes flying on silver wings.
"Drop your chains and follow," it calls.
"I am bound. The chains are too secure," I answer,
As smooth, gray steel presses against my skin.
Purple veils wrap around me as
The dream surrounds my thoughts:
"You are bound to reality and wear its cool, austere chains."
"No," I shake my head. "Chains are chains,
And dreams are but dreams..."
The grass is wet with dew
And the moon is cold and silent.
I wear no chains.
I am dressed in violet.
© SBK 1989