What dreams may come
What makes a dream, I wonder?
So many volumes written,
Freud the most famous.
Though, who knows the mind but God?
In years of medicated slumber,
the theatre of the mind was muffled for me.
Too many curtains shrouding the soul.
The good: few nightmares
The bad: few dreams
Just getting up each day and walking around.
And now, wanting more, I try to put a stop
to that existence of subsistence,
and let the good times roll.
The night visions come in rushes,
escapees from behind a locked door.
Sinister
Baleful
Sexual
Ecstatic
Mad
Artistic
Autistic
Unintelligible
Have I the sinew, the nerves, and the veins
to navigate this rushing wave?
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Lee Dunn View All
Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.
