Poetry

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My lumpy bed can be like a Time Machine;all travels are but just a dream,the gears are all inside my head,the mechanism's with works intact,travel is then a simple fact,anywhere is everywhere;
countryside or waters deep,skies so near when am up there,if HEAVEN WERE ON,some astral plain who knows;GOD MAY GRANT TO ME A
GLIMPSE,Heaven's also in dream's so real,GOD'S MANSION'S ,are for all Souls so clean,still anyone can have a dream;while living here on Earth Below,all travel is quite fast or slow,no limit's speed do dreams impede,GOD seperates fact from Fiction, man may surmise,GOD KNOWS all surprise,GOD GIVES;no compromise,but sins
own demise.
Joe.

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