Sometimes, in dreams, it seems
To me
That what I feel and see
Is reality.
But, when I awake
I realise my mistake,
And partake in what we designate as reality.
Yet I may dream
And the solid things I feel and see
May merely seem to be
As Poe saw long ago
I have dreamed
The strangest dreams
And believed them to be true.
When I die
Will I finally find the reality
Of all I see?
No, I will see
No more of dream
Or of what we call reality
For I will no longer be me.
Sometimes I find my mind
Dwelling on love and sleep.
My lover’s kiss
Is passing bliss.
But the Reaper keeps
His special kiss
For my inevitable sleep.
On my way home
I pause for drink.
Then go to bed alone
And think,
‘Ere I sleep
Of my work and play
On the coming day.
Yet, I may
Forever stay
In sleep.
I wonder, when I die,
If it be in dream,
Will it seem
That I lie
Abed,
In perpetual dream?
I
Must take care
That my head
Is empty of all nightmare,
Lest, when I am dead
I, forever, dream.
Seeming.
Yet merely
Dreaming,
Until we
Enter eternity.
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.
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 take you at night
In dreams,
But it is not quite right,
And all is not as it seems
K Morris - Poet 