Dreams Untrue

Sleep or breath,
it’s not a great choice 
for your brain to have to make
in the dark hours of the night 
when down the hall grandfather’s alarum bells 
clang softly behind closed doors 
and in your dream-like state you ponder,
“Whom does the bell toll for?”

Gasping a deep breath you awaken 
and it is not you for whom they toll, 
it is the third hour of the day rung in,
a couple quiet hours remain before 
Apollo pulls his chariot of daylight 
and working hours across the sky. 

As your head hits the pillow 
you fear not the day and Apollo’s fiery steeds, 
it is Queen Mab and her team of atomies
whose wagon spokes you fear 
as she spins webs of fear 
that blister plagues of fantasy untrue
in your subconscious mind. 


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