The Ferns of Childhood's Demise

we are what we are
never who we seem
we are the dreamers
dreambeings themselves
in dreams, revealed

but hungry snakes
with eyes of dread
books by Blake
with nightmare's stead
bolting now
blotting out
erased memory
luscious pout
coach rides in the night
beckon you
wailing wails
from inside you
hound me in
the night
(we never
seem to get
it right)
self doubt whispers
into ears
as we sleep
greet peace with
raised fists keep
on fighting, TKO
down for the count
fist of fury
knock you out
but when the last clang
of the bells
is heard
only you and I
face down
and bleeding
on the curb.
Would have better
chances with the goons
than families
that lied
when they promised
love too soon.