A Bed-time Story

Boredom + A friend who could not sleep = Random Bed-time story Once there was a boy in a house And he played with a mouse The house was big and round And within it the boy was found Playing with his mouse and louse Because the long ago there was a fire he didn't douse The louse wasn't much company But he could do spectacular stunts,only on a minute scale though,if any And once day the circus came to town Whose ring master was a clown with a frown But it was turned upsiside down When he found the first of the trio on his crown Doing the most minute acrobatics And tiny antics The louse was seen While the clown his rainbow hair did clean He questioned the louse on where he learned it all And the louse explained the story of the boy and mouse and the tragedies that did befall and so the clown took them in And now they travel in a bus of tin


I know it doesn't make sense, but it's a bedtime story - they rarely do.

The Journal

A bone.
A breath.
The dust wavered and played along its breadth.
The journal of dreams he had kept.
Memories of visions and visitations of beings of this world and the next.
Once at the back of his mind,
Now held between his fingers again.

Recollections of vivid dreams of frolic and grandeur,
Of fright and fear.
Memories of pen on paper,
Etching a fading picture of subconscious conscious.
Where foe and friend and family,
All equally malleable.
Liquid and flowing,
Through new scenarios and variations,
The tides of his day at night did play,
In his theatre of dreams.
Regrets and remorse,
Alongside fantasy and fancy
But he wished to recollect them no more.

A sigh.
A sound.
The book was returned to where it belonged,
The light played along the face of its owner.
He turns and leaves as the door closes behind him.
Only a skeleton of his humanity remained in reality.
No longer between his hands,
His dreams now returned to the dark, deserted back of his mind.