Poem: Evil Dreamers

Who dreams of deadly praise,
he enters in my maze
of twisting corridors and branching paths
all leading to a blaze.

Who dreams of what may come,
he comes under my thumb,
and takes communion with the psychopaths
where conscience must succumb.

And I’m the weaver of the dream,
and I make good and evil seem
a pair that’s bounded in a team—
It’s all the same within my dream.

The Vampires and Werewolves fight,
the Demons moan and Zombies bite,
but we the dreamers rule the night,
and sell to you delicious fright.