by Rose Aiello Morales
Illusions were made as saviors
of an over burdened mind, soft
notes in discordant symphonies
to soothe the ears when white
noise grows too harsh and whispers
in the dark are the laughing mockery
of ghosts left wandering in Limbo.
A flower blooms in rainbow profusion,
scents flow in decadent miasma, nostril
assault when sewer stench is all around
and the carrion smell of contagion would
drive the senses mad with thoughts of death.
Close your eyes and the sun is high and warm;
never the burnt umber rage of parched drought
and dry tongue heat that fries organs from inside out.
Rest, and black clouds become pink confection
you reach out and grab handfuls of, mouth full
of sensual melts, fingers sticky with childhood goo.
You’ve borrowed Dorothy’s ruby shoes, yellow bricks
beneath your feet. The city rolls out before your eyes,
a green crystal carpet of emerald shine, three clicks
and you’re anywhere your questing mind desires.
If only such were the back break straws of life, and you
the camel never weary of its load; but all bright fantasies
come to eventual end, the innocent sleeper must at last awaken.