by Gerard J. Surprenant

Nightmares on my bedroom walls,
Satin figures start to shout.
Liars of fright and flight and falls
When the moon is all about.

I'm walking down an old dirt road
And the wind is softly blowing.
Whispering through bright golden fields,
Of age old stories knowing.

People dressed in long white satin,
Dashing through grayed dancing trees.
Ships sailing in the dark of might,
Afire on burning seas.

The old man in a rocking chair,
Humming in the summer night.
Too senile to remember where
He came from, left or right.

My wildest dreams, of crying winds,
Sung by night birds in profusion.
They carry me off to where darkness wins
The clash with sleep's illusion.

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