Under the trees, a small boy sleeps.
And in the lazy noon hours, no one disturbs him.
He dreams of a world
of battles with no bloodshed,
Fires that don't burn,
Voices with no shouting,
and the darkness holds no secrets.

Down the winding road of a dream,
with colors dancing and creatures singing.
Farther down, down the road, deeper into the nether-regions of the mind.
In a second, or an hour, he arrives at the edge of a cliff.
His feet shuffle and send pebbles to the floor miles below.
The boy looks down into the blackness of the trench, and is unafraid.
Without so much as a rumble, the cliff he is standing on gives way.
He is falling, falling, falling.
As he drops, he feels like he is awake and asleep, dead and reborn.
Into the darkness he descends, going down and down through the air, seeing
nothing but black all around.


The boy wakes with a yelp and a sweaty upper-lip.
His mind scrambles to put together what happened in his dream.
But it slips away from him, leaving fleeting feelings of unease.
Finally he gets up, and walks away from his place under the trees, to face a
world
where the battles have bloodshed,
fires burn bright,
voices shout often,
and the darkness holds terrible secrets....
 
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