We live in three worlds:
The real, the imaginary, and the dream.
The real has nuts and bolts and such
And quit clutters our lives with lint.
The imaginary we can fill day or night
With things we like to invent.
But the world of dreams is different
Its neither tangible nor created by us;
It opens without our behest
And closes again without fuss.
It is peopled by friends known long ago
Or by strangers, strangers who came at night.
Dreams mix-up our acquaintances
Until, though out of place, seem right.
Dreams can scare us into awakening
So glad the cliff or lion scene
Was not quit completed, or if so
The lion wasn’t even mean.
Or dreams can send us into a humorous world
Where logic can go or stay,
And we ‘waken ourselves laughing
And wonder why it’s colored this way.
Oh, we live in three worlds here and now:
The real, the invented, and dreams
But in the one we control least of all
Is the one famous for its night-time themes.
– eab, Feb. ‘96
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