I arise out of my bed <br />Like zombie out of his grave <br />In a stupor. A blind stupor. <br /> <br />Reality is death-chamberishly cruel <br />It seems to be dressed in a turban and <br />A goat-skin shirt and wool trousers. It appears <br /> <br />Mythical. Hysterically and happily mythical. <br />But underneath all the mystical and hopeful <br />Garb of centuries gone to smoke <br /> <br />Is a business suit. <br />A business suit. <br />A lassiez-fare business suit. <br /> <br />Fat-cat, <br />With a tie, light brown <br />Like rope, like a noose. <br /> <br />That loves to strangle <br />All your hopes and dreams away <br />Make them into a ghost. <br /> <br />An Ocean Avenue ghost <br />That locks you in <br />To chase you away. <br /> <br />Far away, like to <br />Arabia, Arabia, before the time <br />Of Mohemmed. It is Pagan. Wickedly and delusionary <br /> <br />Pagan. <br />With a peaceful oasis <br />And some food, I could escape demonic Reality. <br /> <br />Lord of Arabia, <br />Hear my cry, my scream- <br />Hear my plea. <br /> <br />Let me migrate <br />To the coast. The deserted coast <br />Free, free, ever so free <br /> <br />From Reality. <br />You may attach as many strings as you wish. <br />Just let me in, in, in. <br /> <br />(12 June 2008) <br />(Hurst, Texas)<br /><br />John Parsons<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/after-a-pleasantly-cruel-dream/
