75 - The dreaming brain's a teeming drain of themes

The dreaming brain’s a teeming drain of themes
Both new and aging, staging their escapes,
Disengaging plain logic from their schemes
In steamy, semi-magical landscapes.
The demons, the angelic, rouse from sleep
And range around our dim nocturnal stage.
Internal danger makes us shout and weep
And turn; our spouses waken to deep rage.
“What is it?” they enquire? “I was on fire,”
We say, all foolish, ghouls revealed as fakes,
Their fates sealed, as real life returns entire,
all fears appear mere infernal mistakes.
“Yes, dear, you are quite warm. Go get a drink.”
Our dormant thinking cooled at night-time kitchen sink.
Sat 18 Nov 2006