NAP

Oh the bliss of the silence and the sleep,

When from an energetic cycle I return;

So warm and cosy under eiderdown,

So silent I can even hear my own heart beat.

It's half past five upon a Friday night,

At the most depressing time of year,

Outside it's wet and cold and frightful dark,

Inside the bed is warm and softly right.

Only a few read words provide the sleeping draught;

Down down I slide into that ephemeral state,

Where all reality inexplicably disappears,

Allowing the sub-conscious mind to miander lost.

"Come follow me," he says, and holds my hand;

Here is a place unknown to human maps.

Come meet the people of your past,

This is a very different fairy land.

A child sits crying on the stair,

Apparently with too strong words I caused his pain;

I cannot stand the noise, so intervene

And him I overcast my shoulder there.

As out of honey I emerge refreshed, renewed,

I check my watch and find more than an hour has passed;

Yet still I linger in that insubstantial zone,

Wondering if the scene I'd witnessed, viewed -

Was me attempting to bring up my son?

Or me destraught upon the stair?

On returning to the world I read of famous Harry, Charles,

And how disfunctional father/son relations are.