When in the night our thoughts betray
and minds shut out the dust of day,
then ramb’ling thoughts unwarp, invite
the dreams that dwell in dead of night.

Then murky mind may mystify:
to see with thought and not the eye,  
to dingy dark, devoid of light,
to dreams that dwell in dead of night.
When fantasies bright reveries,
when visions dance, taunt, tease and please,
when passions palpitate, ignite
sweet dreams that dawn in dead of night.
When warp and weft will weave their web
of dreams, who can untie their thread
that darns the fates, creates our plight;
while dreams disturb the dead of night.
Scenes bright with hope, dark with despair:
when id and ego hopes ensnare,
when lust and love are locked in fight,
when dreams disrupt the dead of night.
Then Freud and Jung peek, probe, debate.
What’s seen within our minds dictate:
dreams symbolize, dissect, recite
when they distress the dead of night.
That said, who now speaks for the dead
or dying, crypt of darkness dread;
burning shadows, smoky light;
dark dreams devour the dead of night.
What fiery sleep before me lies,
at end of days, no paradise,
death is the ship that sails the blight
in dreams that dwell in dead of night.
But dreaded death gives birth to life,
born out of hope, the end of strife.
Lead on you children of the light
in dreams that live in dead of night.

Published in Imaginary Gardens Spring 2013

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