Finding dreamland

The day is almost an hour old,

the rain has sifted down periodically;

the night is dark,

dreams are overtaking the mind,

which rushes words from its sanctuary

as the imagination fires up

image jump over each other;

the news reader progresses

through the list of disasters

that has struck the world today,

while the jester sends us all up;

wildly painted, with his three belled hat

that creates the rhythm of the

insanely driving music of the

living insanity of rushed interludes,

so now its time to meditate,

chase all the demons,

says some payers,

wash and descend into

proper dreamland.