I Dreamed I Dreamt Of Dreaming. Poem by Paul Brookes

the nightmare of too many razors to the soul leave a tracery of red veins
the slash and burn of sunless days, lonely corpses have no mourners here.
vitrified lines hang, then falling shatter, scatter, splatter,
like a Jackson Pollackpicture swirls, whirls, curls Rococo..

curving vectors of smoke tides, sky rides, clouds puff and blow
whiteoh so white against verdure or azure, redazaleas singing bright.
the muse she has fled fearful, she self isolates in her glass house
visible yet silent I can see her screaming her voice slides viscous and noiseless against its mirrored sides.

she resides now in a vacuum not breathless for she lives anaerobic.
frustrated she tries to find the once hallowed halls where her sister Terpsichore danced the intricate steps that echoed the celestial spheres
as Euterpe played softly on the Lyre her gentle airs.

men stopped believing in gods or demigods and they died unmourned.
so gentle Muse we must await better times it seems till you inspire and I do dream dreams once more and all the madness stops.