Dreams are magic carpet rides

Silk threads that weave the day to night

On tapestries behind closed eyes

Lie stories, knit in pearled starlight

Dreams taste bitter, sour, sweet

Delicacies the angels keep

Vision’s veil, torn, pages weep

Cobwebs only sleep can reach

Dreams are waves of ocean’s thoughts

Tide pools where the current’s caught

Tumbled dry on reef and rocks

Where sheep recount lost dryer’s socks

I dream of nothing

Any more.

Empty

My nights are empty.

My dreams were soul-less,

Now they’re gone.

Future

There is no future,

Only days,

Each one the same.

Ending

Never ending

There is no past

There’s only now,

Endless and unending.

No dreams of glory,

No dreams of death,

No untold story,

But only breath.

So now

I have no dreams to give me hope

Or fill my nights,

No love,

No joy,

But only breath.

Dreams,

Memories of twisted sleep

Deep, dark, compelling

Writhe, and fall

Inevitably forgotten

Though not all are dark

Some are memories of light

Sweet, calming moments

Laughter spotted through the wind

Sunshine, mountains, oceans

People of love and loved

Some are neither dark nor light

Instead, a wrinkled thing of varying grays

Not of sunshine nor the absence of

Instead of perpetually gray

Consuming and dull

Dreams

i used to dream of being a popstar.

i wanted to be one of the pretty disney singers that filled commercials and shows.

i wanted the clothes, the fame, the magic.

now i dream of the same thing,

though different.

i dream of helping people with my lyrics,

crying with them at concerts i put on,

giving them the best night that they have ever had.

i dream of giving myself to them,

giving my heart and soul to them.

i dream of you, now, too.

i dream of your body beside mine,

our legs intertwined,

your lips on my neck,

your hands on my hips.

i dream of you, at my shows,

backstage, while i glow.

you're the light

that shines in my darkness,

that shines for my fans,

that shines for me.

i dream of you,

i dream of my music career.

you've got a singer in love with you,

so yes, they go hand in hand,

all my lyrics are to you, about you,

for you.

Little Rose ran towards the house as fast as her six-year old legs would carry her. She kept tripping on rocks and tree roots that seemed to come out of nowhere. Her knees were bloodied as were the palms of her hands. Even so, her tears were of terror, not pain.

As the door of the house grew closer, Little Rose reached out her hand. She could almost touch the knob. She glanced back. Her eyes opened wide, the fear tangible. She screamed, but it came out a strangled, animal-like sound as the six-foot insect behind her stuck her in the leg and with a slurp, she was drained of her blood.

“That's quite enough, Grant Oliver Davis,” said Teacher sternly. “You must take your imaginings, more seriously. The power you wield is not a toy. This is not a game.”

“But, Teacher, it’s all in my imagination. What difference does it make? It isn’t real.”

“For those who live in your dreams, everything you imagine will be as real as I am to you.”

“In other words, someone could be dreaming us, too?”

Teacher smiled. “Does it matter?”

Grant thought about it. “I really don’t think so. If I feel I am in control and making things happen, I guess it doesn’t matter if I am actually a figment of someone else’s imagination.” He was quiet for a moment. “But, I would never want to find out. I prefer my existence as it is: Grant the Great, the omnipotent, Ruler of all…that he dreams.” He laughed.

Teacher smiled again and said, “Just throw in a little compassion and consideration with your omnipotence, Grant. Just because you can have happen whatever you wish, doesn’t mean you should. With great power comes great responsibility. Remember that.”

“I really don’t see that it matters if it’s all in my mind…”

“Let us return to the question are you a product of someone’s imagination. Do you feel real, alive?”

“Of course.”

“And if I tell you that you are but my creation, doing as I will you to do, does that make you feel less real, less in control?”

“No, just annoyed.”

Teacher laughed. “Well, so it will be with your dreamed creations. They will not know they are mere whispers in the wind; shadows of your mind. They won’t know why they are, they will just be…until you cease to dream them. Perhaps, they will seek to know, but the knowledge will be forever beyond their grasp.” Teacher was silent for a moment. "And the knowledge must remain a mystery, Grant Oliver Davis. Just as you would not wish to know, they must not know. You, as Creator, must never forget who you are and what you are doing. Nothing you dream has the power to understand existence as you do. It would be dangerous albeit easy to forget. Be sure you don’t.”

“Yes, Teacher,” Grant replied as he leaned back and closed his eyes to dream some more.

The whole of Thursday was spent traveling. A bus, two taxis, a train and a three-hour flight. On Friday I was frazzled.

I spent the morning catching up and cleaning up and eventually got my forty winks in the early afternoon. The dream I had went something like this:

There was a garden party. Good weather and nice people. Hot dogs and Heineken. Loungers and deck chairs. Bright flowers and lush green bushes.

I was chatting with Nik Kershaw. He was explaining how much work went into the video for The Riddle. I cut him short and argued that the chord sequence for The Riddle was far too difficult to play on the guitar.

He agreed and even apologised...

That was all I could remember from the dream. I really like The Riddle. It’s a great song! About a year ago, I tried to learn to play it on the guitar and got frustrated with it. Obviously, that frustration is still lurking around in my subconscious. I wonder what else is hiding in those shadows?

I dream of you at night,

I dream of you during day,

During school, choir and work.

Always on my mind, never off it.

And the more I dream, the more I realize....

This dream wont't come true.

Two people were supposed to give all of their blood to me or something like that. There was a person being turned into liquid.

I was in a horror house and some man was trying to kill me

I had escaped someplace but I don't remember where I escaped from.

I ran from the scene and escaped through a red plastic tunnel onto a normal looking street.

I ran to the house across the street and rummaged around one of the house's bedrooms for a little bit. I was in the backyard when I heard someone in the front yard. I panicked and ran out but the only way out I was through the front yard. I walked out and saw the man who had tried to kill me in the horror house across the street.

He was gardening but stood up when he saw me come out.

My excuse as to why I was there was that I had a cat and I needed someone to foster it because I couldn't take in any more animals right now. I noticed his wife, she was blonde and was wearing a long-sleeved black v-neck shirt. She was wearing a silver chain necklace with a circle-shaped pendant hung from it. She was watching us talk from inside the house partially hidden behind the beige curtains. She looks pretty. I was looking between the two as I talked to him. He looks like Tommy Volker from The Mentalist. He was wearing a long-sleeved grey shirt and blue jeans. He's handsome. I run from the scene before anything else happens.