Last night I slept like Hell, and dreamt of many things.
Of unending houses in a row and flying without wings.
Of passing beauties in the night, their eyes as bright as stars.
And treachery abounding, on landscapes as alien as Mars.
I dreamt of problems unending, in convoluting procession.
Until I ached to break free, to end my endless obsession.
Sometimes in a wheelchair, and sometimes walking.
I wandered all over the place, my destination balking.
Until the time in a dream, when I'm not heard for mocking,
Hell reaches a fever pitch, and the door opens without knocking.
I am awake, with a headache, still alive and talking.
Copyright 2001 © Ronald W. Hull