In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Just a Dream.”

During the day, we worry;
At night we have fears —
Either way, we scurry
Fretful, through the years

Dreams are made of madness,
So, it seems, are we;
Lives of hopeful sadness
End in misery

That we long anticipate
In our darkest hours —
Dreaming of cold choices
Black caves and sharp towers

Choosing one of three, we find,
Behind some blank door,
That our fate, our destiny,
Is what’s come before:

Falling into darkness where
No light seems to be:
Powerless against the tide
Of mortality

But the nightmare can point us
Off of our own pride;
The pow’r that’s within us
Comes from the
Outside