In shadows thick where silence sighs,
Where dreams dissolve and darkness lies,
A nightmare stirs, its voice unseen,
Whispers soft, "What could I mean?"

Born of fears in hearts concealed,
A phantom crafted, never quite healed.
Yet in its chest an unknown spark,
A longing lost within the dark.

It wanders realms where minds escape,
In twisted forms, it bends its shape.
The monsters cruel, yet still it yearns,
For light to which no soul returns.

What dreams may bloom for such as this?
What star could gift its void a kiss?
It aches to feel what dreamers see,
To be the hope it cannot be.

It dreams of days in gold and green,
Of meadows vast where minds are clean.
Where screams are songs, not bitter cries,
And dawn is born from cloudless skies.

But night itself must play its role,
To haunt, to tear, to take its toll.
It bears the weight, it guards so clean,
And yet, it dares, to dream.

So even darkness, cruel and deep,
Holds fragile hopes where shadows sleep.
A nightmare, too, can see the gleam,
For even nightmares yearns to dream.