Song: She And Me - A Dream Poem by Dave SmithWhite

I'd checked-in, a generic hilton,
In Xanadu one day,
For a light repast of stilton,
And a comely cabernet.
I'd been re-reading Milton,
To re-work him as a play,
When I felt the hotel tiltin',
When I saw the city sway.

I sat there: grave, in awe, transfixed;
Then sought a hideaway.
So from this fragile house of sticks,
I left without delay.
I deftly dodged a shower of bricks,
That somehow fell my way.
I missed the ferry on the Styx;
I had no dues to pay.

I saw the streets and buildings,
Liquefy and slip like clay.
I found my courage wilting,
Not sure to flee or stay.
Did I see, a paradise lost,
Crumble beneath my feet?
I saw the stark and human cost,
Mowed down like standing wheat.

I saw no cause to panic,
Though I was shocked and dazed.
With all about me, manic,
This old guy caught my gaze.
He sat there, on his golden chair,
He seemed so calm, unfazed.
He gave off such a careless air,
My spirit greatly raised.

I heard his words, though he never spoke,
Resound right through my head.
He smiled as if we'd shared a joke,
Or broke a loaf of bread.
He got up and took my trembling hand,
And I followed in his tread.
I found a barren, empty land,
Wherein all colours bled.

But I knew that pallid nightscape,
From that other life I led,
A palette knife poised to scrape,
Away my arid dread.
The hair stood up upon my nape,
'This cannot be, ' I said.
'Is this some horrid jest or jape,
Are we the walking dead? '

I woke up, sure: I had not escaped,
Yet I lay in my bed.
From there I saw a figure draped:
A shroud in clouds of red.
Why was this fellow so misshaped?
I watched his blood pool spread.
Had I imbibed just too much grape,
To trust my mind instead?

I'd checked-in, a generic hilton,
In Shangri-la one day.
I put my vestment kilt on,
And joined the cabaret.
The gnostic monks in unison,
In splendid robes displayed,
Their ancient caustic wisdom,
To She, who must be, obeyed.

Beneath the sacred mountain,
And across that valley floor.
From the river Alph a fountain,
Was set to rise once more.
On a painted bridge, near a coloured ridge,
The high priest strained his eyes:
'You know I'm sure, we've met before,
But where? I can't surmise'.

To a modern shrine of polished chrome,
He transported me by will.
Was this the new Khan's pleasure dome,
From shining hill to hill?
Schemes for soaring cities,
And castles in the air.
While the feudal poor sung ditties,
And raised their voice in prayer.

High above that busy street,
As if amongst the stars.
The exalted and urbane elite,
Attend their seminars.
Tonight their guest is Prester John;
Tomorrow, Joan of Arc.
And the time portal is holding strong,
For the hounding of the Snark.

But I'd seen before her box of tricks,
On a recent trip to Mars.
As mistress of the grand matrix,
She ruled her avatars.
She dissolved, her holy man,
For he was her, it seems.
As she evolved her immortal plans,
To resolve all truth in dreams.

I'd checked-in, a generic hilton,
In Atlantis, one fine day.
But the rising waters spilt on,
The town along the bay.
I heard the roar like drumming,
That filled me with dismay;
Another wave was coming,
And the world be swept away.

She was a great magician,
But she sure played it rough.
For all her funky visions,
She really knew her stuff.
But if she truly needed love,
She only had to ask.
I'll stay with her to call her bluff,
And in her favour, bask!