What Dreams Become, and What We Make Them
At night when lights are lost we fade to dreams
Resist fatigue by reading all alone
The Tea is hot within the pot that steams,
While outside wind is dancing, cold as stone.
Succumb to sleep and find your bed with haste,
For dreams are what you’re longing to explore.
The tea has left a bitter aftertaste,
The ticking clock resounds beneath the floor.
Ideas, thoughts, and pictures flood the mind,
As you will drift away without control.
Hallucinations one cannot rewind,
But every rainbow road demands a toll.
Abruptly Death appears with scythe and hood,
You sweat, you shake, but pinching does no good.
No comments:
Post a Comment