The Ancients flew the sky at night and I do so in my dreams.
They traveled about in chariots, I fly on an Angel's wings.
The Universe seems to call to me, It ignites the beacon in my soul.
Swiftly flying my spirit to outer space, many  wonders to behold.
As my soul soars toward the stars, drawn forward in the night.
I leave the Earth beneath my feet, with it's tiny specks of light.
All that is good and all that is beautiful, waits at my journey's end.
All  that is wise and all that is true and all that has ever been.
I met the one who wrote "the book",  the seers that once were men.
I sit humbly at the feet of Jesus and St. Michael is my friend.
The golden light that shines there, illuminates my lowly soul.
And all the streets beneath my feet are paved with bricks of gold.
The heavily music lingers in the air,  that the angels wrote.
They hung the universe in place, upon each and every note.
My visit there is way too brief and I do so hate to go.
But the richness of the place leaves my soul aglow.
I am quickly transported back to wake safely in my bed.
Thankful for my visit brief and the visions in my head.
So no matter what the day may bring, no matter what is said.
My sleep chariot awaits me with it's wings, when I slip into my bed.