The landscape in the pillow

[LunaDeLore]

We wander into Sleep,
the gates of this holiest church
rusted and overgrown.   --------- would these gates ever be rusted and overgrown 
The cult of Dreamers -
in our nightcaps, gowns, and slippers - ----- for some reason this reminds me of the night before Christmas and couldn't "our" be omitted?
marches onwards, into Sleep.

The landscape in the pillow greets us: -----My thoughts: the landscape in the pillow greets and the spires of....
the spires of Somnium Terra
punctuate its verdancy
like full stops in a love letter,
as in a mystical fetter
the avatar of Life withers.

But what of the need to guard this place?  ------ Is this place the avatar of life? Is the avatar what must be saved ?
- To save our cardboard Christendom
from these marauding Mosselmen,
their scriptures of the Real
aloft in ev'ry meeting place
throughout our holy lands.

A sermoniser crests the mount,
shorn of beard and robe,
a column of light its only form.
'Whichever metamorphosis appeals to you,
my resting babes' it says, 'do not be pressed
in dirt and age. The only sage is called Unreal.' ------ I like this line....

Heslopian,

I never quit seen sleep or somnolence tackled in the landscape of a pillow before so that makes this poem interesting to me. Of course, like most things we write "revision" always calls our name. There's no way around it, really. and I'm looking forward to seeing where you go with this one.

Good work.
Luna