Lullabies and sweet good nights
Amongst purple-painted walls.
A gentle touch, a simple clutch
Of a knitted bear
and down her head;
it f
a
l
l
s
To a pillow case where Memory stalls.
The world is dead,
And Dream, she calls.
The faded echoes of days past, days gone,
patrol the halls of a playful mind;
Wrought is it with marvels to find.
And shadows, impending and grim
Round every corner, hiding behind
The familiar image of daily doings.
It’s within our dreamings that we find them pursuing
Our lost hopes and hearts,
Where our troubles are brewing…
The father’s voice that lulls us to sleep,
Our terrors and triumphs, in our head, we do keep.
As we
s
l
i
p,
f
a
d
e
Into an abyss of bliss and blunder.
Fire or flood; our damnation has always made us wonder
Whether puffs of white contain any thunder.
Asunder and apart come Life’s fragile fabric.
Death’s threads unravel her, intertwined.
And inclined are we, to live then let die.
To smile then cry.
To let tears never run dry.
A mockery of our ends;
We pretend every night.
Unconsumed by the fright
That we may fade.
We trickle as sand
Down an hourglass,
Not knowing the hour, nor the day.
We fall to our pillows,
Encased in cocoons.
The butterflies emerge
Thanks to lullaby tunes
