Dream, My Child, Dream.
Sleep, my dear, sleep.
by Matt Salvador
The bed calls your name,
Like a lost river,
In the guise of love past feigned and bewitched.
Dream beautifully, youngster and callow dreamer
The subconscious overflows like a river,
Like a fountain of cogent sorrow
Creating a city of dismal and rejected joist.
Wriggle, child, wriggle
The nightmare grips like kidnapper,
In the burdensome, infiltrated dark night sky
The light in life opresses the abyss of rivine.
Wake up, sweet pumpkin, wake up
The sun gesturing, dangling by the streetlamps
With a voice, familiar to a lover's call under a romantic rendezvous,
He waits for you, with his skin and toungue of lissome kiss.
Exhausted, are you, child? Are you? Be weary,
Let sleep invigorate your unwieldly body,
Allow it to drift you away, from the blasphemous,
Providing yourself, the queen of the mattresses, how cottony it is! (mggsalv)