Nightmare

(This is intended to be a response to another poem.)

Dreams, oh fleeting dreams.
I float about within them
On a journey of remarkable fun.
Images of pure fantasy
In a world with constant sun.

Drifting desultory with
Absolutely no regret,
Her face appears amongst
The clouds assuring me there
Is no cause to fret.

The trees grow tall.
Apple to orange,
Orange to pear.
Yet how peculiar that
Tree appears so bare.
As if its bell-like
Fruits have abandoned it,
Alone and in despair.

Poor tree left by itself,
Left incomplete as
A solitary sorrow,
A happy whole made wholly half.

And my how I now feel
Odd. Something has changed.
Perhaps my subconscious has
Played its trick,
But my once soft cushion
Now feels brick.

Where has that warm pulsing gone,
Away from my wanting head.

The sun is dim.
The trees are dead.

This dream is now a nightmare.