DREAMSCAPE

DREAMSCAPE

In my magic carpet careening,
I fly through night's passages like a voyager of old,

Shot from a cannon and into the dreamscape,
A velvety passage of nightfall foretold.

It is my hilarity, it is my calamity,
It is my monstrosity to look on and behold.

For there are sweet dreams alive in evening's dust,
And there are nightmares lurking in the corner of my globe.
And I alone trek through the moon, fearless in my sleep balloon,
Dangling the tentacles of my star space probe.
Or I ramble through this creepy house,
Sleepless in my bare feet and bathrobe.

Evening so quiet it tiptoes like a mouse,
Or screams like a banshee or a horrified spouse.
In my carpet I go sailing,
Straight through the moon and its rich, bumpy craters,
Crashing through stars like a neophyte skater,
And bumbling my way through the mess of my madness,
An uplifting euphoria, a strange quiet sadness.

Alone I float in sleep's little death,
Waking in the morning to catch
The tender thread of breath.
Into the dreamscape flailing, lost and unawares,
Rushing through the sands of time,
Tumbling down its creaky stairs.

-Bruce Potts
Revised Copyright 2014
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED