In dreams there is no sin.
Only the awake are culpable.
In a dream there is no victum,
no perp, no crime.
The raped and rapist,equally innocent.
Nightmares rage ridden riots,
grottos of horrors, merciless murders,
bodies and hopes strewn around the mindscape
are purity’s paintings,
dissolving at dawn.
What then of daylight,
when the blades slash brings real blood
and our machinations, sired, perhaps,
by unconscious conception, morph the dream
into the reality?
Pray that our screaming, sleep sketched etchings
are our all in all, so what dreams may come
will not be counted toward our fate.
I will take periodic, bloody nightmare
over day lights gentle sin.
For Heavens gates swing open for the
sweating, late night dreamer.
But Hells gates yawn wide for
noon times little lie.