In the quiet hours before dawn
when the conscious is tamed
we relinquish ourselves
to the vulnerability of deepest slumber where
the subconscious on its throne reigns;
automatism at its highest power,
sometimes a mighty adversary
sometimes a comforting friend.

Suppressed memories resurface,
conflicts left unresolved battle,
unrequited dreams are fulfilled.

Fast playing minutes
governed by the quiet hours' playwright.
Sometimes hope is given,
or we're tortured with despair.

Scripts are played out by
familiar and unfamiliar faces
often masquerading as others.

There's terror to be lived out
or tranquility may wrap us in a lullaby.

Frustration, horror, hope, longings
all mixed together in settings
of our inner most truth,
a blazing Technicolor parade
of all we can't or won't acknowledge in wakefulness
subconsciously orchestrating our wakeful hours.