And it was

It was, if but for a sleeping moment    
a vision of a dream    
and it was, it would seem; enough to awaken me again    
to open my eyes    
and breathe with conviction    
I am me, I am alive    
   
It was something, and it was nothing at all    
not anything that could be worded    
or painted onto a canvas    
like all the other somethings and nothings    
that have come and gone    
or grown strong enough to live on indefinitely    
   
it was beauty, like northern skies, taken    
by pinks and cyan of Aurora borealis   
each brief wave, electrifying, progressing to its peak      
then dying out to make way for the next one    

    
   
and it was something, really quite something