Dreamscape

Why do I wrestle this sleep?
Am I afraid of my dreams?
Is there honey in those places
of passion, or cancored voices
waiting to blister? I know
there are tormented children there,
grinning like somber lions.

No, my struggle is not silent.
It is desperate, desperate.
In silence in dreams, maybe,
the eyes see clearly,
sensing hyenas and laughter
through the grand ovals of speech.