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.
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.
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.
If I could paint a portrait
Of each dream and nightmare
There you would see me
Naked in love and hate
Conscience uncontrolled screams
In dreams.
In the lair
Of nightmare
The pretence of day
Is stripped away.
If you would discern
Me, then turn
And look behind
My smile to find
What lies within my heart.
But you do not possess the art
To traverse the curse of another’s dreams
Dare
I go
Bare?
No!
But on going to bed
There is in my head
The thought
That I could be caught
Out
And about
Sleepwalking.
‘Tis the nightmare stalking
My mind
That I may
One day
Find
Myself bare,
Heaven knows where!
There are dreams, streams
Of consciousness of which I shall not speak,
For I am weak
And would not have you know
Where I go
In sleep,
Lest you weep
For my dark heart.
I shall not tell you of my nightmares
For you have cares
Of your own
And, when alone
I would not have thee see
What tortures me.
I shall not open my heart
For you have dark
Thoughts enough of your own.
So let us leave our demons alone
Until they creep
Out in sleep
And we, in earnest weep.
Nightmare.
Terrors buried deep
Creep
Out and stare
Me full in the face.
There is no hiding place
When the black mare
Stirs
From the stable.
Her coat sable
As night.
Banishes delight.
Awaking.
Shaking
Off fear
Yet nightmare crouches near.
In the shadows she hides
And bides
Her time waiting for sleep
Then out she doth creep.
I turn and run
But my dark mistress must have her fun.
When day is done
She will come.
K Morris - Poet 