Of Nights and Dreams

And the Mysterious lady called Night

The night is a soft hugger, She reaches out through the window, possesses your pillow, And whispers you softly to sleep.

And sometimes she will sing A melody for your dreams, And fill you with joy  Till you’re bursting at the seams

But sometimes she’s a temptress, Sultry and sensual, Oh, the words that she whispers. More visual than textual

But on some nights she’s vicious, Her tone now capricious, She walks in with a stagger A crone with a dagger.

You feel the horror rise; The fear of a close demise. Yet she crawls closer still, Her eyes burning for the kill.

And you twist and turn and yell and scream But no one can hear you in your dream. Her eyes now laced with golden fire, There’s no way out of this quagmire.

When suddenly light from yonder window breaks, You arise with a start — as a drunkard wakes, And you realize the perilous dream has passed you can finally fall asleep at last

And in she comes, the silent hugger, Young, beautiful, and devoid of dagger, Possesses your pillow and whispers in your ear, Goodnight, my love, the night is here.

Yours, Always,

Lawrence

#Dreams #Night #Poetry