When dreams turn to nightmares
On endless dark stairs
And you are alone
In your castle of bones,
And you pray
For the day
That may never come,
You are in the nightmare
Of despair,
Where there is nowhere
To run.
When they speak of light
You see only night,
But the endless black stairs
Of your nightmares
May melt away
Into the day
And the sun
May come.
Where she to kiss me
I would think my day
Had not run aimlessly away.
Yet she will survive
When Time’s great scythe
Has struck me dumb.
‘Tis fun
To dream of the Fairy queen
But I shall be cold
Long ere she is old
So why dream my little day
Aimlessly away?
I drink
My wine
And think
Of sleep paralysis.
Then, walking home alone,
I think,
On the wisdom
Of going to bed.
In nightmares
The dark
Stares
Within our heart.
And, when
Good men
Awake
They take
A look inside
Their heart.
And decide
“Is that fantasy
The whole,
Or a mere fractionality
Of me?
‘Tis fortunate none can see
Into my soul.
And the lies
Behind my eyes.
I have dreamed many a dream
Where fantasy
Did seem
To be reality.
And I have thought, that I ought
To take care
Lest my dream, turn to nightmare.
For in dreams
All is not what it seems,
And who can fathom
The chasm
That may or may not be
Between a dream,
And reality?
Last night I was somewhere
Called nowhere
For there
I stood
In the dark wood
Of dreams,
Wherein
Virtue and sin
Are merely seeming,
For we are dreaming.
‘Tis a fine
Line
Twixt the living and the dead.
The head,
So full of thought
Is, suddenly, nought
And many
Men
Creep
Away In sleep.
To some death is the final despair,
The never ending nightmare
For None can escape
Death’s suffocating cape.
Yet, if we know not that we are dead
Why dread
The final dreamless sleep,
The dust,
Into which we all must
One day, creep?
In the chaos
Of our dreams
We experience a loss
Of the control
That we, in waking hours maintain
And the oh so fragile pane,
Shatters, revealing our soul.
‘Tis good that none but we
Can see
How our consciousness streams,
Out of control, in dreams.
In a dream I saw
Plastic high-heels on the floor
Of a room who’s door
Stood half-open.
Something must have been spoken
For I was invited, and recall
The monotonous rise and fall,
Going nowhere
With her,
And those cheap
Plastic shoes, which keep
Me from sleep.
A girl in a dress
Of red
I dreamed in bed.
And I confess
That she
Has stayed with me.
Red may scream
Danger ahead,
But ’twas merely
A dream,
Though she
Has stayed with me.
I think of you in dream,
Walking barefoot, along the sand
But you are forever out of reach
For ’tis impossible to command a dream.
K Morris - Poet 