What's in a Dream?
A Poetic Mystery Story
(please read to the end)
Dreams playing out like mystery movies, Hero's and Villains of every kind. Clandestine plans they make me woozy, as the plot it does unwind. And we see unlikely hero's, a family of children some he some she, as they watched as the villains zeroed, in on the prize protected by 3.
In fear and amazement these children watched, and plotted their own sweet surprise. These persons that their parents trusted, with their very precious lives. At times the children, their lives they risked, as they unfolded plots of their own. Each one's role the other missed, the plans were very loosely sewn.
Yet successful they were at each passing, One villain indeed at a time. The cook, the butler, and the yards men, were on vacation during the crime. At the prime moment of opportune case, the children called the law into the race. The parents returned, there was great joy. The children felt a sigh deploy.
From their very throats but not to last. You see their parents had surpassed, the villains themselves as they did employ, the criminals in their curious story. And as the law began to arrive, a further plot started to re-contrive. The gems sought were desired by parents, who's greed the children did resent.
And as these children now did find, Unlikely hero's of every kind,
Size, Type and Description around this home, In doorways and in catacombs. As this home was a mansion glorious fair. A showcase to all who entered there, With statue, tapestry, and throng, of figures that did not belong,
In any museum of any sort, or within any royal court, of high esteem or power base. Yes rare these treasures un-defaced.
Each item seemed to come to life as the children faced each coming strife. They helped with things, each child in trouble, was not alone, their efforts doubled.
Or even tripled as more villains strived to undermine their little lives, to the point of near extinction. These treasures worked without derision. They followed every help cry given, from those children indeed they did. Until the parents were at the mercy, of those treasures which they'd hid.
These parents thought they had won the battle, and found great treasure within the walls, of this mansion that they had embezzled, as to find the treasures beneath it's halls.
Now the tables turned against them. All too late these parents see, the treasure's rarer are those unhidden, yet not yet put into use by we
Who hold them out like badges of honor. Trinkets to be bought or sold, on display only to be squandered, by those who own these homes so bold. But now these parents see the truth about those things that they'd passed each day. These figures that protect the children, as parents wander about and play.
Unknown by all in secret corner, Plot their own small sweet surprise. Each one a purpose from the other, Protect the children from greedy eyes. They give them strength when they are weary. Comfort when the fear resides. Courage as their lives do flounder, and the parents in their pride,
Do not see these figures clearly, and place them into hallowed halls, where they stand un-tended loosely, till the children begin to call. Who are these figures that they see, These children as they come to be In their imaginations are they?, These figures a figment as they play?
Or something more as some would try, This story to perhaps simplify. That there are things not understood, Yet they exist as such things should. My question indeed for us to ponder, On this day is it possible that we, Open our own eyes, and not squander, The unseen protective tapestry,
Of spirits hiding from the greedy, Children's hearts seems only see The guardians of spirits open, To the help to be received
May our hearts be open to those guardians, Each and every passing day. As our own spirits flounder in private garden, Or in public on display
It matters not the faith you practice, Or whether you have a faith at all, Don't forget that your own guardian, Is there at your beck and call. Call it conscience, call it spirit, Call them angels as long as you hear it. The voices of those who love you so, Protect you, guide you, let these treasures flow
Kari Shinal
Copyright
November 29, 2007