As I lay my head down on
the pillow,
I wonder where my
thoughts shall travel,
and who I shall meet on the way.
As my eyes shut softly,
I see a picture in my head,
but it just seems to swim before my eyes, not
taking any action at all.
I drift off to sleep,
still with the image floating
before my eyes.
At the strike of midnight,
the swirling, twisting, wriggling
magic prepares for the
theatrical illusions
that they are prized for.
My mind is in turmoil,
with blinding purple mist; thoughts.
And images replaying themselves
through time before my eyes.
Suddenly, the purple mist
finally clears,
showing a scene of a
magical garden with
glossy green foliage,
flowers sparkling with dew.
As I dream on,
the magic performs it's tricks,
and the images begin to fade,
the edges of the illusion
blurring.
Finally, the play ends,
the purple mist envelops around
the golden globe that has
been circling outside the image.
For the rest of the night,
I sleep peacefully, until dawn
doth break my reveries.
I lie in bed, thinking about the
powerful sorcerer
who lies deep
inside your head,
and concocts those
theatrical performances that
only play in the dead of night.
He summons the imagination with
his golden globe.
He summons it to perform
those illusions called
Dreams.
