In the past nearly seventy two years
Most nights, I have laid me down to sleep
Sometimes that blissful state
Does not enfold me easily.

But, on the many good nights
I have simply, drifted away…
I don’t know, precisely when
The magic happens.

Soon I am dreaming
Sight, sound, even colour and smell
All go into creating my imaginary world
A world occasionally more real, than the actual one.

At times I might talk with people long since dead
Or friends at school, I once had
Float, fly, go under the sea, cuddle the kids
Did I have so many happy times?

Unpredictable adventures draw me each night
I certainly don’t rage, rage at the dying of the light
Can love transcend both time and space
Are my dreams just misty lace, constructed out of moonbeams?

Deserts, jungles, fields in snow
Cities, countries, I don’t think, I know
Drift in my head, till mornings awake
Oh, such meanders, in an emotional mist.

On waking, even just minutes later, I soon forget.
All those times, each night I slept
Echoing, lost thoughts, that my pillow might hold
What are the secrets, where dreams might go.

Mike