canto 'o buried tales
When June comes in with mornings bright,
And Beds are showered with early light,
Then dreams sit near the waking eye,
And flights of fancy take to sky.
Then faces known and faces lost,
People loved and people crossed,
Parade across our REMing state,
Through Worlds and places we create.
Roads we trod and those not taken,
Lovers we knew and those forsaken,
The child we held is ours once more,
Our mother is standing at the door
From shadows deep and dark and dire,
Raised up from our subconscious mire,
Our deepest fears find face and form,
In shadowy figures intent on harm.
But morning swallows twittering high,
Return the Self behind the eye,
Reality comes in cascading,
And dreams are just an echo fading.
This poem is proof were it needed
Some of my stuff has not suceeded,
Poetic fail is demonstrated,
With tortured rhyme and rhythm castrated.
