Original Poetry by John Abbott ©
Field of wheat and mountain flower
Emerald lake and frothy streams
Are some of the things that dreams
are made of in the western land
That we pass through in a matter
of time that lasts too short of time
Golden fields of wheat, frothy silver streams,
emerald tarns and sapphire flowers
are some of the things dreams are made of
that we pass through in a matter of time
that lasts too short
before the ruby sun sets.
The places I've been have brought a ray
of sunshine into my life.
From the mountain flowers to the desert lily,
The cedars of a thousand years
to the new growth of the coastal redwood
The sounds of both coasts,
The Great Lakes of the North, to the Gulf Coast.
Inland rivers, the fields of sunflowers
Is just a beam of what there is to see.
My Journey Through the Dark Tunnel
Dragon roars in the front
Lions roaring in the rear
Gnomes nipping at your fingertips
You feel along the wall and find
In fear you pound on the wall
and in a flash of light
Someone comes through the wall.
And all you can say is
Fear in the Night
What we fear in the night
Is not the night but what is lurking
In our own minds
We conjur all the horrible
scary things that we act so brave about
When among our friends who also are in fear
Of going it alone because the Demon
from within is far more frightening than any
Demon that can be conjured from someone
So fear is fear its self.
In you walk...into the darkened house
well knowing nothing is in there lurking
in any corner. Not under the bed, down in the pit
of hell they call the cellar, where everyone knows
the shadows move when you do
and are more clearly them.
The maniac with the axe behind the upstairs closet door
Just bidding his time, knowing you will come up
stairs because everyone knows there is no such thing
as the boogey man. Just ask Mom.
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