Treasure Island

Richard Allen Beevor

(23 March 1949 / London)

The Dream

I fall and crash with darkness
as clouds fill my eyes,
I run across barren grass
in silent peace of mind,
all evil is stilled
lying flat on rising ground,
stretched in bed of ill health
swallow the pill,
flying aloft so rapid
I never touch the ground,
friends appear looking close into my eyes
telling sin and unborn lies,
running again to the railway line
chasing a late train,
the elusive desire
to be on time.

Playing music on tuneless strings
words of unheard songs,
writing lyrics to
accompany giant gongs,
twist and curve
down an old forgotten lane,
racing the rain
down dried-up drains,
I jump the stairs
to the floor I'm bound
I fear I'll die
if I hit the ground.

Out of the city
to wild countryside my spirit flies,
off to the hills and valleys
alone it cries,
laying in the sun
a girl in my arms,
the beat of her heart
the look in her eyes,
a moment to come before I wake
as morning arrives.

Submitted: Thursday, May 08, 2014

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Topic(s): dream

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