Writing poems sometimes gives a sense of lack of control, similar to dreaming. Odd things from different times and places in your life mix and hurtle off in unexpected directions, and you have little power to decide their destination. This poem is one of those times…
Dreams
Dreams are thoughts with the reins off, galloping through dim night
Eyes that burn the darkness, skin as pale as fright
Tearing through night’s hours, howling like lost wind
Clinging on white knuckled – and you’re slipping, slipping…
Hearing soundless footfalls, thunder that won’t speak
Hurtling up dark mountains, breathless at the peak
Wind that lifts you flying, feet that leave firm ground
Arms that cannot carry – and you’re falling, falling…
Remember, remember
The thing didn’t happen
The thought was a waterfall, cascading and calling…
Remember, remember
Embrace it, don’t fear it
The wind was a whisper, you’re ears didn’t hear it …
Run on into the scream, it’s not a scream of danger,
It’s not a scream of fright, just keep your eyes wide open
Not long until dawn’s light
Original form in this one, Rilla, and it works well. I like the internal rhymes (like ‘fright’ and ‘night’). You have some lovely images like ‘breathless at the peak’. Just one place I felt the repetition jarred ‘waterfall, falling…’ – how about ‘cascading’? Don’t like the double spacing, and I’d look again at your punctuation and capitalisation, but all in all, this draws and turns this way and that like a dream!