The Bad Dream

Twisted mind harbors the fleet of troubled terror,
Demon of self rises to ply a ruse of golden joy,
Angels gather potions of love to embed the furor
Shadowed figure leaps from shelved Tolstoy.

Wandering caravan travels inner corridors blood,
Eerily long tendrils of smoke reach throbbing throat,
The gurgling frothy blood begins its raging flood,
Soaking the dapper trapper’s funeral coat.

The doctor pensively eyes the mangled scene,
Saying I’ll have coffee with sugar and cream.
Bird like nurses begin the daily ritual preen
Suddenly awakened the patient had a bad dream.

Robert Dodson
June 16, 2009