Home In Bed

        Home In Bed
Sleep comes as sudden as
a storm upon the great sea.
And we the travelers, the posters,
upon dream's stage;
passengers in its fine
vegtable coach
led by a team of talking mice:
"My gown sir, if you please?"
Who will find the glass slipper
this night and be made royalty?
all in fantastical sleep.
Stories sewn together,
a quilt, a patchwork
of strange death tales.
Oft seeds of time;
some will grow, some not.
Only our king, Macbeth, may know.
He and his three bearded Furies.
So to the pillow I shall lay my head
of ten gallon thoughts.
Thoughts, dreams and a love so great
for the finest boy in all the world
whom, in oblivion,
snores in my ear beside.

Will it be by life's great spinning wheel
or only by the wheels of time
which shall spin these straw-like thoughts
into dreams of gold?
Dreams of such strength
that together our will, our love,
will make true.
"For I've guess the riddle; I know thy name
On my first born you have no claim"
And happily ever after
shall be our fame.
As I grow old and (hopefully) wise,
he will grow straight and strong,
handsome in his gallantry.
His strengths will become mine
and mine strengths his.
The young and the old together in consonance.
And as on a death bed lay, my eyes will shine
and my lips will smile;
shine for the love of a little boy;
smile for that boy who became a man.

I still clearly see, at the tender age of three,
a small boy poised on a stone wall fishing.
But not in the deep that lies before,
no, he fishes inside pockets deep;
one of which contains the world,
the other, two small coins. Coins so precious,
coins so dear, for today...they will buy him wishes.