Book Of Dreams Poem by phattkat Poet

The distant mirage of fading memory
has left me with a crooked smile
while bellicose laughter
skates across my face
landing with a thump
on the floor beside my feet

Tonight has been a revelry of dark tales
told in dimly lit rooms with heavy curtains
dusty shelves filled with old books
thick stories of men and women
countries and governments
politics and love

Cigar smoke and plum wine fragrance
mix with anticipation
a bead of sweat
hesitates on furrowed brow
slipping quickly down rough cheek
falling silently
to the braided oval carpet
covering the hard wood floor

Now comes the time to tell a story
read from the book with lock and key
opened on this special occasion
as ticking from the walnut clock
approaches the hour of ten
my hand trembles for an instant
not knowing what the future holds
or what the past has hidden

For nothing is the way it seems
when reading from the Book of Dreams

I hesitate to tell this tale
so please forgive my stutter
as I have taken on the task
that makes a strong heart flutter
these pages are like fragile wings
they crack and almost crumble
carefully I read of things
that cause brave men to stumble
not out of fear or lust or greed
nor passion for their homes
more simply for a verse, indeed
a book of simple poems

For nothing is the way it seems
when reading from the Book of Dreams

Alas, the story now unfolds
and jumps up from the page
I read sweet things
as poets sing
of envy, love, and rage
while pomegranate fantasies
poets love to borrow
sometimes end in ecstasy
but often end in sorrow

The images of written words
have taken on new life
as history and human kind
intertwine with strife
love and hate, war and peace
great mysteries foretold
all from the mind of poets
whose grief and joy are sold
for pennies on the dollar
the cost of pen and ink
waiting for the reader
to laugh, or cry, or think...

Nothing is the way it seems
when reading from the Book of Dreams