Dreamstorm Poem by C Richard Miles

From slumber deep, last night I wakened from my sleep,
Though still unclear if dawn would break and end my fear
For I had dreamed that things had been not what they seemed
Quite indistinct from seldom-seen mystery, linked
To ancient tales from long ago where, with black sails,
A pirate ship sailed away, slow, over the lip
Of the horizon, to be lost where stormy skies
Brooded so dark and rough seas tossed each tiny barque
Or even mighty flagship or galleon bright
That dared to steer its way before the gale, severe
As any blast they might encounter. As the mast
Shook, creaked and bent, with seething fountains of spume sent
Crashing furiously on the deck, I was curious
As I sailed out, risking my neck to see, no doubt
A ghostly form: the Flying Dutchman, on the storm,
An eerie sight that was too much in that dark night
For me to take. It was that fear that made me wake,
Relieved, at last, shedding a tear, that night had passed,
And morning light would soon shine through my window, bright
With happiness of day to soothe my deep distress.