Terence George Craddock (Spectral Images and Images Of Light)
Visions From A Dream State*
The day is done, the hour is late,
as I lie down at last to rest.
Tranquility is all I seek this night,
an interval of silence exertion free;
sleep I crave, disturbance stilled,
peace of mind sanity decrees.
The world is quiet, the people rest,
I lie alone, motionless, and hear
the distant murmur of a soundless night.
Sleep’s gentle shroud encircles me
her magic bliss of drowsiness
descends as if a sweet caress.
The cool security of clean sheets
a delightful pleasure that comforts me
yet sleep itself eludes me still, fleetingly
like a butterfly, gliding on a gentle breeze.
Sleep, I seek it still, for within her care
is seclusion no man may break.
I reach out for it, for caressing sleep,
in faint gossamer hope she waits for me.
Meditative gift of solitude is mine at least
that suspends entirely all conscious thought.
In darkness, inky
my weary spirit breaks loose its bonds,
and slowly rises free,
from unfrequented reaches of my mind.
While swoon foggy cloud of weariness
that enfolds me, fades instantly,
leaving my skin tingling from dewy breath,
which soothed all bodily fatigue.
I finally drift into a trouble-free sleep, but soon,
regretfully, poetic thoughts impede my brief repose;
alas; abstract visions flood my sight.
Clouds float in space, icicle seeded rain,
parched sterile ground now water nourished,
a springing into life brought forth by rain.
Yet who planted ripe seed within my brain
that burst forth into such glorious blooms,
within fallow fertile gardens of my mind.
Was stagnation strangulating;
originally caused by evilness in man?
Or an outside force
humanity could not withstand?
Evil never furthers prime perseverance,
of atoned; superior redeemed man.
Now! Is time for opposing those who destroy,
but where are chosen guides,
who will astral spiritual leaders be?
Are they really absent,
or is it merely covetous blind
who cannot see?
Incarnated in earth’s vibrations
living normal lives,
breathing, waiting, to purify and prepare.
Yet are prophets prepared for existence,
for oppressive struggles on physical plane?
Life for them will surely be,
inevitable, a requisite of necessity.
Will they open up earth eyes,
and open up ominous sky,
to let pale planet shine through?
And can they finally bring into harmony,
and visionary understanding,
our so-called brotherhood of man?
Do solemn slowly
falling sands; signify;
an approaching end for man?
Or do omens foretell a great evolutionary
leap forward, with humanity;
poised within anew age?
A rising again, an expanded
consciousness, a future state.
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
Written in March 1982. Published in Lemmings Into The Sea in 1991.
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