Our Dreams Of The Night Poem by Vincent Feliciano

In the grim hollow halls
Of a stained-window day
Come our dreams of the night
Which come again to play

They don't knock on any doors
They just walk into your head
They haven't any boundaries
But their grounds are your bed

Though they seem to be so real
You can touch them with your hands
They are much like the heavens
Which nobody understands

They feed upon your fears
In a frenzy, as it seems
But in the wombs of all your hopes
Lie the passions of your dreams