Dreams Poem by Richard Lackman

Each night I take a journey on my bed
To places that are not what they might seem
I conjure up these countries in my head
As I lay down to sleep and start to dream

My dreams are never lucid as the day
But seem distorted as the details flow
As such I never seem to find a way
To navigate strange streets where strangers go

Intriguing episodes of travels lost
On unknown continents where valleys lie
Between great mountains covered deep with frost
Where rivers run their silent course and die

From where does my imagination draw
Such stories I could not write with a pen
And yet there always seems to be a flaw
Prevents me ever traveling there again