From the surging crowds, the blare and glare,
From all that which, belonging to the day,
Makes the common world banal.
The night is an escape
To the inner world of dreams and shadows
That thrives under darkness's velvet canopy.
A geography of thought made real,
A fantastic landscape of snowy plains
And soft jeweled mountains with crystal hearts,
A paradise where cruel light and crude judgment
Cannot pursue me.
The night is an adventure
An infinite cosmos contained in one brain;
Each dusk I wonder, what new creation awaits?
Phantom worlds, whole dramas and histories,
Heroes and horrors, strange new glories,
Shaped and scripted by I know not what,
More colorful and vivid and fluidly alive
Than dreary day.
If my time comes
To go to the final sleep that never ends,
I hope that there too, in that eternal night,
There will be dreams.
Excellent…you could compile some of your best posts and poems and publish a book
ReplyDeletethis is beautiful - I agree with Mary - perhaps you'd like to do one for another guest blog post at my site?
ReplyDeleteI like this.
ReplyDeleteMary: I've thought of that, but charging people for stuff that's already been on the net for free would feel like ripping people off. Maybe I'll write one someday.
ReplyDeleteDaal: Thanks! I'll have to think about that.
Applequeen: Thanks!
Strong and poignant, Infidel. Do you remember your dreams? I almost never do.
ReplyDeleteThanks. I can most often remember dreams when they happen while half-awake -- or, unfortunately, when they're especially unpleasant. But of course this isn't only about literal dreams.
ReplyDeleteOf course. I’m just always wistful that I can’t tap into the imagery from my dreams—good or bad.
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