Oh,
that most lovely of feelings!
To
slip from reality’s snare
Spend
an hour in refugee status
Fleeting
trip, without a care
A
dozen short memories are made
In
that phantom, ethereal mist
A
fortune is made, a dragon is slain,
A
beautiful maiden is kissed
The
tendrils of sleep pull my mind
Allured,
my perceptions, to trod
As
the eyes drift shut, the tendrils will pull
‘Til
that weariest head starts to nod
Oh
that dreamscape, it beckons, so unfair
Our
escape lasts for so short a time
Reality’s
gaoler pursues us
And
in pain and in cruelty they bind
To
map that realm, an impossible task
Or
at least that’s the way it would seem
Prison
sentence will end as flesh sloughs away
In
death comes the eternal dream.
Randall Madden
September 8, 2014
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