my dreams are nought but tethered ghosts a chained ephemeral haunted host to enact my passions deep within the cold confines of sleep but for mine own sanity’s sake I must their bounds strike ‘fore I wake
these last dreams to death do yield across sweet perfumed poppy fields to Elysium’s truth are blessed and in its wildflowers find their rest yet do not mourn or sage flowers burn for at the ending days still turn and resurrect fresh reveries of new last dreams the nights to ease.
it’s approaching the eleventh hour
though in fact it’s five past two
I had to wake and write some lines
as I lie soft next to you
the only light to guide me
is the darkness all around
and the silence that is deafening
is the loudest late night sound
and so I take up an imagined pen
and write words in the air
and look into the blackness
at the thoughts left hanging there
then just when I think I’ve cleared my mind
without need of counting sheep
I wonder is my glass half awake?
or is it half asleep ?