Dreams

"It's Saturday night and I am in bed with the laptop, (What an irony! Of all the men I know, a laptop is what I find.) lost in utterly chaotic thoughts that wind and swerve only to lead me back to where they originated from. My head is so full of fantasy literature from Tolkien and Eddings and Rowling, tales that seem to have neither a beginning nor an ending but merely an existence that doesn't fail to excite and conjure up tales for oneself. This one's for the dreamy state that is sure to be my abode for some time to come."

The unicorns tread every so softly on their prowl
To the vigil of riddles of old, long forgotten scroll.
The balrogs lie in deep slumber of oblivious days,
Biding time, anticipating arousal of the one face.

And thus, meet the two adversaries of lore when
The intrusion of slack awareness of callous men
Unsettles the dormancy that lingered on for ages
Of which the history has been sated with pages.

I have been here last century and the one before last
I have watched from my lair of what time came to cast.
I have forever been hidden in those ever naive eyes
Dreams, so they called me, spanning beyond the skies.