Medea

Last night I dreamed of you mother
There under the trees, loving another.
You couldn’t see me, but I saw

I woke and see you above me
I asked if you still loved me; but
You were as silent as moonlight

Will you still sing me songs of delight,
If I awaken from sleep sad and alone?
And make the light shine into my bed?

My father? Ah he’s your concern, not mine
He is like the sound of the weather
This is my time to be loved and misled

I forget the sorrow that rises from
The silence of stinging regret
And the deceptions of love unrequited.
Or unfulfilled.