Poetic dream quest


My pen is the gateway to heaven;

futuristic plain,

seventh dimension

times ten

divided by the speed

that my train of thought is traveling.

And in its seventh car I’m riding

trapped in a dream

constructing an army to unleash on reality,

where I sit half a sleep.

Here my soul struggles to get free, but

physical body is sunk in the train seat, and

mind is undecided of where to find destiny.

All that seems clear is the last line of a poem

blowing on an endless breeze

carefully woven by me.

Words spoken so eloquently,

without thought to help me see


my pen is the gateway to heaven.

A perfect place to die

and return to the living.