Furies

I recall a dream I had when I was very, very young, I think I was maybe five or six years old. Voluntarily I allowed myself to be locked up tight into a steel box just barely big enough for me. This box had no window, holes for air, light, or sound to penetrate, it had no padding, I entered it with a full expectation I would lose my mind while in it.
This dream was intensely lucid and I remember that I did lose my mind while in that box. I remember it felt as if I were two people, one was going through the experience while the other was taking notes. When I awoke the next morning I was so tired and worn out that I scared my folks so much that they kept me home for the day.
Now I know that this dream was just a dream, but when I listened to {I}’s Furies post, I couldn’t help but consider what terrible intensity lurks in the dark recesses of our frail human condition.

A rain dance

Rain, rain come today,
and fall, and wash,
the dust away,
bring a drink,
a soothing swallow,
so that I can speak,
and the goats can wallow,
and crops can grow,
and all can eat,
bread made from,
this hot,
and too dry,
summer's wheat.

A responce to a friends need for rain, if I had the power that rain would arrive on schedule.