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                                  e   o   g
                                     n   u   h.



                                                         •a    e
                                                              b

i am made of paper
not crisp, white, new paper
i am made of paper
delicate, yellow, and old

i am made of paper
forgotten and lost
crumpled and thrown in a corner
twisted and mangled

i hold dainty leaden secrets
and masterpieces too
i hold a thousand words
and yet no voices ever reach me

i am made of paper
although i bend, fold and tear easily
i refuse to be burned by you

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

in the wee hours of night
i've seen you
dancing with the stars
playing tag with the moon
juggling neptune and mars
making the comets swoon
really, you are quite the sight
in the wee hours of night

Pestered and pursued
by unknown foes
A topsyturvy land
where snakes can have horns
and cows can have fangs.
Night'mares' where the day's stallions
make mountains out of molehills

A chance to witness greek mythology-like creatures for real
For dreamland tis a place for the unreal and surreal.

Those hair-raising scary scary dreams
beset with horrified silent screams!

We do try to interrupt nightmares, pinching ourselves
With relief wake up to see there aren't any horrid elves.
We also try to interpret dreams filled with mystery
But gifted dream interpreters like prophet Joseph
Are now part of biblical human history

All in all, dreamland's fascination
for extra-ordinary exaggeration
and tall-tale imagination

Where myth and legend come to life
An amalgam of fiction or real strife

Where assorted monsters of the mind
reign supreme in that REM sleep of our kind.

Yet on the other hand the wishful, wistful sweet sweet dreams
where fantasies form mirages bordered by fanciful seams.

Where castles in the air that humans build, float gently down to earth
only to shoot back up unto nowhere from the awakened one's berth.

In dreamland a pauper girl can be a princess or fairy fair
for daydreams extend into the night and linger on there.

A quote I took to heart and it to console all and sundry
'that if your sweet dreams don't come true, don't you fret
for atleast your nightmares didn't come true either,
so just heave a sigh, by and by.

Every night let us all just fly away and escape
And lo behold  the extraordinary world of Dreamscape