strange dreams

by Linda M. Crate

with laughter in his lips
she sips
preying upon all my fears
telling me
every heart ache i wished i'd never
had to hear,
strangers lie in my bed where sweet
dreams used to sing;
i don't know where these nightmares
got their confluence over me
but they exude
a confidence
that evades me when the night strangles
out every last whisper of
light from moon beam or distant star—
now all my dreams are strange
whether good or bad,
and nothing is every what it seems
in these dreams
one face morphs into another
enemies become friends and friends enemies
and family turns both into angels and
monsters to attack me
when my back
is turned;
like love lust
this unrequited strangeness between night and
day stings,
and i pause because i don't know how
to color in these strange lines
so i color outside them
instead.