The Encore's Tear

Curtains rolling in the wind,

reeling billowing waves of lace salutations,

greet heavy eyed thoughts of slumber,

caressing the frantic pain of day's chaos.

Harbour town's dark hour hymns drift through Georgian windows,

lifting invisible dust of Ghost's memorial muse,

setting the scene of the dreamer's stage,

Seagull crying hushed curtain calls,

he's about to sleep,

take your places,

centre stage.

Lace lapped windows morph to fluid scarlet satin,

tired lights stoop lazily down,

eyelid's Moonlight fluttering last glimpse,

silence...the show begins.

Curtains drawn slowly dusting a line across idea worn boards,

revealing the ethereal pantomime's lucid madness,

crazed distorted faces mirroring true sight's reflections,

folk of the dreamer's disappearing reality,

rubber smiles he passed in grey city's pretentious real world act,

smiles that snap tight shut in lines of climatic greed,

when you're not looking licking lips.

Upon his vast unconscious stage,

Angels dance among paper fiends,

unnamed colours lighting blessed footsteps consuming shadow,

tracks of the spirit's waltz.

Here his mind is healed,

scorched flesh carry mortal scars,

a soul carries only being,

washed in a dream's self cleansing aura,

soothed by subconscious balms of effervescent laughter,

warming as the Desert morning's Sun.

Dawn's light stirs the curtain,

cracked eyes swallowing blue endless skies,

Bird's high chorus swirl in melodies,

wrapped around notes of horn crying boats,

and here our dreams will linger,

brushed across the waking world to paint first inspirations,

but still the Dream...encore,

one more dreams the encore's tear,

one more waking fear,

encore.

©David Nickle Read 2014