In the Dead of Night*

Dreams gather

In my head

As in a shotgun

Full of lead.

They want to fill me

With bad thoughts,

Things to scare me:

Oughts and noughts.

Dreams, they wait

Behind a wall

To judge my gait

And cause my fall.

They want to catch me


They want to bring me

Ugly nightmares.

Dreams do come

Whether I like it

Or not–they come,

Knowing I can’t fight it.

So, here I lay

In the dark, afraid

That when I close

My eyes, and compose

Myself to the torture

Of dreams gone askance

Of Mother Nature,

Suddenly a lance

Will be driven deep

Into my heart.

Yes, that’s the part

I dread.

*(Written 2010-2011)

Author: Gordon S. Bowman III

Writer, Visual Artist, Blogger, Advocate

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