The temperature
Seems to control my dreams
The warmer I sleep
The deeper I dream
Then as I awake
I miss the magic of a just dreamt dream
Its painterly colours and shapes
Its benevolence
The winter brings
The deep disturbing dream
That scratches the surface
Of a deep inner skin
So deep is this skin
That it could be prehistoric
The skin of a lava
Of a lost earth
Where gingerbread men
Are carved out of the crust
And making their way along a moonlit path
They sit down in a dark cave
That I forget as I awake
But sometimes, I’m given
The dreamer’s wage
That I cannot spend in any reality
Mikes New Web 