The Allure of Dreaming

The warm fuzz of morning, dozing, wondering the mind fields,
Sauntering the dreamy passage of possibility to see what it yields,
Safe in my dreaming, all things seem possible, but the truth is this:
Safety and comfort, challenges met neatly, are the illusion of bliss.

In vast cathedrals, filled with coloured light, in utter splendour,
Lavish tapestries, flecked with gold, images impossible to render,
A powerful symphony plays, chords resonant to the final notes,
Played unto an empty congregation, heard by nobody but the motes.

The grimy cold reality; without shelter, light nor love,
Like the icy touch of charity that "sprinkles from above",
Or the myth of "pure compassion" and other lovely lies,
Passes through my fingers, drifts past before my eyes.

Taste for red meat can be satisfied by candy floss for only so long,
Actions restrained by knowing that even love can go wrong,
When tensions are knotted, triggered and soothed by the merest touch,
Should brief rapture be considered, when staked against so much?

So merrily I dream, the duna comforting me, head under the cover,
Fashioning safe virtuality, perfect life; for I'll have no other,
And so the bubbling, roiling, writhing stew is safely contained,
And love and lust and hope and passion are carefully constrained.