Ship set to sail but crew stood idle,
Their tasks yet to perform.
Awaiting sleep; its visits tidal,
To the night-time course inform.

I wonder when deprived of sleep,
And dreams are thus undreamt.
Are they in abeyance waiting kept,
Or fully lost to day's contempt?

What then forfeit by dreams not had,
And insight not conveyed?
Things not yet learned and cryptic clad,
Are they gone or just delayed?

And I wonder if just left on hold,
Are dreams yet richer still?
Their stories waiting to be told,
Into awareness primed to spill.

And are they but mere routine chores,
Or is there so much more to dreams?
When a lack of sleep our mind deplores,
And opts for daydreaming it seems.

And are we missed when so waylaid,
By others in those self-same scenes?
For do we share this night-time shade,
Its insightful ways and means?

And do we on this common ground,
In a way we can't by day.
Trade thoughts; do things with different sight,
Where alternative outcomes play?

Its world of wonderment and worry,
Consternation; chaos, calm.
Where tricks of time skew slow and hurry,
Trade torrid tense and blissful balm.

And does this inner world offer more,
As a portrayal of deep set need?
By providing strolls on a different shore,
From the day’s world nightly freed.

To ourselves, ourselves explaining,
Disentangling worldly wires.
And a sense of what-is-what regaining,
The calm and order life desires.

So is their gift a panacea to life,
Required for us to fruitful thrive?
Yang of solace to the ying of strife,
To keep us sensibly alive?

This place to which we're blindly led,
And its mystery night school class.
Scenic ride on a boundless bed,
With its day-provided pass.

A realm of random revelation,
To which with sleep we choiceless go.
And source of endless speculation,
Behind the Scheherazade-like show.

So is their artful tutelage lost,
When to sleep our plans are foiled?
And if so, what the likely cost,
Once in dreamlessness embroiled?

How different would our world now be,
If this were proved to be the case?
What product of dreams do we daily see,
To this artist we can trace?

Shakespeare’s muse on a midsummer night,
The perchance of Hamlet’s sleep?
Martin Luther King and his civil plight,
Androids and Electric Sheep?

I suspect they win out in the end,
So strong and powerful is their pull.
And their messages will persistent send,
Until all tasks addressed in full.

Just in case, try not deprive yourself,
Of these riches nightly mined.
For their seam of lifetime night-tapped wealth,
We'll never elsewhere likely find.