Fancy, Reverie and Whimsy
In my dreams, my imagination creates flights of fancy,
reverie and whimsy, out of this world incredible.
Sometimes wonderful but most often nightmarish,
the dreamy fairy-tale holds me prisoner, trapped.
Often I am lost in a lavish forest green.
Searching for an answer to questions of the past,
horrible, hateful, heinous monsters are at each curve.
The path a winding labyrinth of tangled vines,
I rest beside a meandering stream where the sun shines.
A black horse with a bell calls my name.
Upon his back I leave the forest for meadows free,
abloom with flowers rustling in the breeze.
We thunder up a hill until we reach the very top,
and he unfolds majestic wings and we float.
I am drifting now on filigree, white puffy clouds,
gently lulled into a sweet dreamy ethereal world.
Then I am free falling, down and down and down,
screaming for help that never ever comes.
And I open my eyes with a gasping breath.
_________________________
June 21, 2013
Poetry/Verse/ Fancy, Reverie and Whimsy
Copyright Protected, ID 06-487-560-21
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
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