My Dream, in Schemes

Last night I had an imperious dream
I dreamt of poets and their verse
It survived for hours, or so it seemed
Did Plath and Keats have this curse?

My dream bounded from the gates
The herd was much quicker than I
A run of Lord Byron and William B. Yeats
A sprint to the finish with Fry

I marveled how they wrote with such a grace
Was it nurtured or native to the soul?
What did Frost spot in the paper’s white space?
Was the same viewed by Angelou?

My dream went blistering ‘round the turn
What of these royals of lit?
These hopes ricocheted till the break of dawn
Was it heart and mind, love or grit?

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I sprang up in bed
An ache in my head
Stewing over these staggering bards
But this was a trick
My dream had not quit
‘Twas me letting down my guard

Quickly as I sat
My theories grew fat
As I considered a few of their pieces
I gazed into a cage
Where the bird doesn’t rage
But whose song comforts and eases
A funeral then passed

When I remembered at last
That Dickinson was full of dread
Her mind had numbed
Her bell had rung
The torment lives, she is dead

Then in a flash
I made a dash
To the works of Edgar Poe
The raven could be
His Annabel Lee
Instead of his endless foe!

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My mind meandered, verse to verse
From J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Ring
To Little Bo Peep
Who lost her sheep
To The Curse by J.M. Synge

What of these poets? What do they know?
My dream asked with imposing regard
Why are they deemed
To glitter my dreams
And not others for whom verse is hard?

What molds these wordsmiths notably better?
My dream kept flouting me
Why am I left
Feeling bereft
While they rise to sharply see?

Then I awoke with a thund’rous jolt
The chimes of rhymes would not stop
These poets are heard
Every damn word
And I know why they stay on top!

This occurred then to my ailing mind
They all had one trait in common:
They chose words
That can only be cured
When you’ve died then lived rock bottom

My name is Edwin Wollet. I am a middle-aged college student who, in addition to enjoying studying the human mind, also likes to write for pleasure. I appreciate writing that makes me think or laugh. A piece that does both is golden in my book. Thank you for reading my poem; I hope you liked it. You can view more of my works at https://saddlefatigue.wordpress.com

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