A’ight

In the middle of the night,

my dreams take flight,

soaring to crazy heights,

high like a kite,

into the sky so bright,

shining with supernatural light;

oh my, what crazy sights.

And then, I take a nocturnal bite,

like something sweet, pure delight,

much much better than just alright,

designed to taste buds excite.

Other times, nightmares blight

my nightly landscape, giving me a fright,

possibly landing in a fight,

maybe from some otherworldly spite

with a malevolent sprite,

for some wrong, some slight,

but whatever is the plight,

I battle with all my might;

the evil ones, I do smite,

until from my slumber I alight.

Come morning, in the flourescent white,

about such journeys, I write,

though it may be trite,

I think it turns out tight.

'Tis right, 'tis right,

Quite.