Nightly Machinations

Nightly Machinations

I find tranquility in the brief timelessness of sleep.
Slung low in my bed, I slip into boundless dreams,
a wild world where fear, anger, love, peace and war rise
up and, now unfettered, take to sword and shield,
waging war for the shaded knoll of my heart
only to find there a corroded land and further stour.

And they scream for me to hear them amidst the windy stour
but my ears are closed and my eyes blinded; for sleep
has a ghost-like grip on the senses and hardens the heart
to the muffled screams of symbolic dreams.
So, finding no respite in the heart of me, they shield
themselves against the storm and wait for the sun to rise.

Though on some fated nights, when the sun is not yet due to rise,
some device of the ethos-clad warriors penetrates the stour
and, with a mighty blow, turns aside the ghostly shield
that separates the lulling pull of the world of sleep
and the stinging vigilance of wakefulness to bring dreams
to my vision, sounds to my ears, and blood to my heart.

And with this new blood, my mind wakes and the heart,
it knows it has been conquered as the ethereal blade rises.
For the ethos-clad warrior, all in silver, is a bearer of dreams
of bliss and naked passions as well as the winds on the stour
meant to flank and besiege me in my sleep
until it is riven and I awaken, sweating and seeking my shield.

I turn to her then, dozing beside me, her love as my shield.
Her scent soothes me, and the steady rhythm of her heart
calms my breath so I am able to return to my tranquil sleep
free of visions, fears, or passions until the soldiers rise
up again in battle and kick up dust and blood for another stour
that will inevitably bring me mad dreams.

And when I find peace to be the victor, and she has brought me dreams,
they are invariably about my auburn-haired shield
with deep blue gemstones that guard me during the stour.
Shining a soft cerulean light to guide my heart
towards the morning, inviting me to rise
and shirking off my nightly armor, bid farewell to sleep.

And tumultuous dreams are vividly real in my heart,
and as I hide behind my shield I imagine watching them rise
to spin another stour that exists in the bleak world outside of sleep.