Traitor's gate.

Traitor’s gate.

I am a traitor in my dreams.
My liberated unconscious mind,
inhabits dangerous, glamorous places,
contemptuous, of the wakefulness grind.

In my dreams I betray the days,
without fear and with love
in myriad ways.

I walk through dark shaded canyons
alive with dragons that flee from my path
because, they know.
I am more terrible than they.
And they know
that if they rend me asunder,
I shall return.
And they shall be,
my, private prey.

I wander aimlessly
on the edge of the abyss
fearing no fall, for I know now,
that the pitch into darkness
of filth or flame,
will become an headlong flight,
as an inverse vertigo
transforms the sucking
wormhole void,
into a tunnel: Taking me to
where another scenario
settles around me.

Whatever horrors assail me
I know no fear.
For I have sat in graveyard meditation
and washed the charnel house floor.
And the spirit of fever,
has shown me how to burn
with a heart of frenzied flame
and sears my soaring soul
through boiling brimstone,
that pales in my light.
The childhood nightmares
that had me screaming, leaping,
fleeing to my mother’s bed;
trouble not my shameless,
pain purified maturity.
The beneath bestial cruelty
of the wakefulness world,
has long ago superseded
in horrendous ‘real’ time,
any Hell my dreaming mind can find.
So if a grasping jealous God
or Devil enters my dreamscape;
I look it full in the eye.
No serpent pit or swamp of sewage,
no festering parasite nor cosmic deluge
can come as any threat
to my metamorphic dream soul.
For it is mine to become
the cancer in the cancer.
The epitome of entropy.
In the burning belly acid
of a chewing swallowing worm,
I push and hone new claws and talons
and tear at its tender stomach lining,
and torture its nerves until
its sense of being
is battered, into a furious flight
of self abandonment.

I am the master of my design.
I fling aside all pretences.
I spit in the faces
of conventions and prohibitions.
I provide no nesting places
for pernicious ideas
of compromise.
And all harmonies are on my terms.
All exist at my will.
And all are destroyed at my bidding.

In my dream domain
my strength and love are boundless.
Loves appear from the days of my waking,
wandering through passages
of my mind’s making.
True loves all.
For whom I feel the deepest,
most abiding, all consuming,
infinity echoing, immersion
of tenderness.
For these
I can love without obligation.
Recognising love's individuality,
and lack of obligation; to me.
Sometimes they return
having visited my dreamscape before.
Sometimes they are new,
and seek me for amusement.
They wear the trappings
of metamorphic veils
as make up, to adorn their forms;
changing into a pastiche
of lovers I have known and desired.
Shaping to the need of the situation,
adapting into my dream world environs,
playing their roles as they will.

Then I awake to the world of days
And stumble through the temporal ways.
The needs of others I must sate
to hold my flesh and fill my plate.
I look at my love and smile and sigh,
and know that I must carry the lie.
Discretely; secrets I must keep,
of infidelities, in my sleep.
And loving that cannot compare,
with any passion flesh can share.

In the mortalness of my wakeful fate,
the shadow of my traitor’s gate,
hangs over me, and in conscious hours;
through slant, portcullised windows showers,
a pattern of images from my dreams:
And every hum drum, world thing, seems
insignificant and bland;
as I ache again, for the dream filled land.
Trapped in sense chords: I yearn to fly.
But I soldier on, in the living lie.

I move in traffic, shops and offices,
talking, dealing, trading.
I move among the hostile faces;
gloom laden, care parading.
A prisoner of my fragile bones,
I compromise, make overtones;
ideals I enunciate, agreeable words...
But even as I say them.
I know that in my dreams.
I will betray them.

David Hazell