Of Ghostly Dreamers. Poem by Alistair Plint

And trains depart stations
in nondescript places
with hidden conductors
unseen drivers and
headless engineers
Passengers bereft of baggage
and tall as the doorway
stand queing to meet

The ghouls of the dark
tiptoe in your slumber
leaving graffiti all over
the walls

The bed being raised on
six sturdy bricks, with the
blankets all soaked up in
garlic. We dream what we
read and dream what we
see and continue to write
what we care of

In slumber and love
we walked hand in hand
straight backed to
our own promised land
Where we wrote of our care
with a quill like flair
and told stories of our
ghosts and their dreamers

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