As a child and young adult
my dreams were sometimes tortured
by beings who thirsted for
my powerless body or soul
and I entered awakening
with quaking relief.
These dreams have deserted me.
The nocturnal panic that bound me
in frenzied anguish is gone.
I am wizened by the lack,
for more than gratifying fantasy
they assured me of my substance.
My bad dreams are mere frustration
at being blocked from achieving
trifling somnolent ambitions,
by contorted moebius loops.
If the Bogeyman could dream
he would have nightmares such as these.
