Do They Know It's Christmas?

Bittersweet music

And a lack of poetic things to say.

And sometimes I think I'd like

To just sleep.

For days.

But I don't actually like sleeping.

So what would the point be?

Being miserable in my dreams,

Simply for dreaming?

I am restless

In my waking hours and

Also my sleeping ones.

If the winds were to cease and leave me in stillness,

For they are my only other restless comrade,

I would be lost

To seas called fields

And I would drown here in midwestern winters.

And in restlessness

I capture glimpses of shining things,

So many fish in the silvery streams

Called future.

I catch the wafting smells of rain and

Love and determined curiosity,

Sometimes

It smells of bitterness.

And so I wish to be ethereal

Gossamer

Like fairy floss

And I could float in apparitious spirit

Above fields of green corn stalks

And my entire soul would be a timepiece

And the winds could have the entirety of my body,

Leave me in such nakedness as to lay my soul

On western currents.

And the body's restlessness may cease

But that is only the physical manifestation

Of whatever may cause the stirring and clawing

Away at my walls of caving flesh,

And it's a cavernously empty day

When I shall simply sit in stunned silence

Nothing left to wander.

And it is like the plagues of grasshoppers

The unrest

And if I sleep through waking

And wake only in the canvas of sullen dreams

What has my mind come to?

Above the fields called seas

Where I am only one strand of universal silken thread,

Woven through the stars and tassels of golden corns.

I am part of some fabric

That is so frayed and threadbare

As I flip endlessly in some state of disrepair

With a wide open soul

And I (meaning this thread of silk)

is being so gently cradled in the arms

Of my breeze named Zephyr.

And when he dies,

I shall lay down my soul

And bury it deep

In midwestern soils

Where I will be so confined and compacted as to be

Restless no more.

On a different note.

In dreams that flow in like Sunday Morning rays of sunlight

I am all together blissfully aware of your place in the universe,

Which for now, is beside me, your straight, narrow silhouette only existing in my soft-minded dreamscapes.

Your imagined breaths fall like the slightest whispered sentiments before a deep slumber upon my neck.

And I turn only slightly, for in dreams all is possible

As you are here amongst bedclothes so faintly smelling of your unknown scents

That I am never aware of, for you are

Here and still solid

But I see some translucence around your softened edges

Where I may rest my palm and feel the faint flutter of pulse

As you continue on in some strange dream sleeping.

I am oddly aware of something faintly whispered of,named love.

And I suspect this might encompass the same sentiments

As my hand roams to your face and gently manages to trace features I only see in my waking hours from some distance.

And I do believe that some of these I am unknowningly exaggerating,

As I muss your mane of gold=blonde hair,

In this world that is as pale as you are,

And I note that nothing is dark,

Not even the night,

For no one sleeps so soundly in some whitened light,

You are obscurely thin and pale and slight

Against my more supple frame which is swathed in some frame of white,

As are you and I note how you sleep along the linens,

And you are too peaceful and I am too aware and unaware

And you are here, so real and true,

My hands may graze your face and muss your hair

And you you may sleep so sweetly next to me,

But you see the one touch I cannot venture,

The opaquely pale and slight kiss

A touch of dreamlike sublimity

Is forbidden for I swoop slowly

Resembling some wounded sparrow,

And all is lost,

Something shattered and all the pale and swathy sunlight

Is gone away and you've gone too

And I cannot find you again,

My pale sleeping dream one.

Furthermore:

And oh, save me from illusionary dreams tonight,

So I may sleep in some dark calm,

However dismal and stark,

So long as I can't dream of you

And your face ad your hands and your voice.

And if I may sleep without you

I shall sleep better and but worse,

For I need you to be there to fight some of these battles

That wrest my mind from sleep.

And I think you are some sort of beautiful puzzle piece from the wrong box,

And I love to ponder over you and look at you

But you cannot fit anywhere in the other picturesque scenes.

But I still love you

In some subtle

And not so,

Ways, in which you are secretly unconfiding in.

And I beckon you from beyond the dream equilibrium to

Kill off the edges of lusting sleeplessness.

And I beckon you to please stay, at this odd dream tea-party

Where I'll serve you tea with two sugars

I'll wear my party dress and you, your shining armor from killing off the beasties

Over the Hills and Far Away,

And we'll laugh merrily in tormented dreams,

So unlike what I let myself slip into.

And when we sit and chortle like warblers

Over scones with visitors akin to snails and sirens and sea monsters,

I will look into your blue eyes

And you will probably take your dagger,

Red with dream-taunting beast blood

And slay me.

And I will slump across the table in the forest by the sea,

And soon enough I will wake from the dream with a start,

To see you have left me again.

To close:

I love you my strange and distant blue-eyed boy,

I will see you in dreams and wakefulness,

And each realm necessitates the other.

Goodnight and adieu.