Prompt: Phantom clowns, they dance at night,
In shadows cast by pale moonlight.
Their painted smiles, forever bright,
Concealing darkness, out of sight.
They jest and laugh, with twisted glee,
A macabre show, for none to see.
Their eyes, like coals, burn menacingly,
As they frolic in their eerie decree.
Children shudder, grown-ups fear,
The phantom clowns, elusive and unclear.
Are they real or just a specter drear?
A haunting mystery, year after year.
So beware, dear friend, when night is near,
And the circus comes, so strange and queer.
For the phantom clowns, with their eerie veneer,
Will haunt your dreams, with terror severe.
Prompt: In Southend town, a legend goes,
Of Ratman, feared by friends and foes,
A creature small, but oh so sly,
With cunning eyes and a tail held high.
Rumors whisper of a human form,
With rat-like features, a fearsome norm,
A figure elusive, quick and sleek,
Living in shadows, a mystery to seek.
Some say he scurries through the night,
In hidden tunnels, out of sight,
Feasting on scraps and stolen fare,
A creature of darkness, beyond compare.
Others claim he's a myth, a tale so tall,
A figment of fear, not real at all,
But those who've glimpsed his eerie gaze,
Are left with chills and a sense of daze.
So, beware the Ratman of Southend's lore,
A creature feared, but never ignored,
A legend whispered, a mystery untold,
In the town of Southend, so the stories are told.
Prompt: Beware the legend of the Red Room curse,
A tale of darkness, a story perverse,
A room painted red, a place of dread,
Where the curse lurks with its vengeful thread.
Once a room of joy and delight,
Now shrouded in mystery, a haunting sight,
Its walls adorned with crimson hue,
But something sinister, it conceals, it's true.
Legends speak of a tragic past,
Of a family cursed, their lives harassed,
By an unknown force, a malevolent power,
That grips the Red Room in its vengeful hour.
Whispers of whispers, voices unheard,
Echo through the walls, a chilling word,
Shadowy figures, spectral in the night,
Dancing in the crimson light.
Those who enter, beware, beware,
For the curse has claimed its victims there,
Lost souls who never returned,
Caught in the Red Room's eerie yearn.
Some say it's a portal to the other side,
Where restless spirits forever abide,
Seeking revenge, seeking release,
From the curse that never seems to cease.
But none can break the Red Room's spell,
For the curse persists, a haunting dwell,
A chilling presence that lingers on,
In the room painted red, long after dawn.
Prompt: Beyond the veil of earthly sight,
Lies a realm of mystic light,
Where the Shaman's portal lies,
Bridging worlds before our eyes.
Through the fog and swirling mist,
A gateway to realms yet untryst,
Where spirits dance and shadows play,
The Shaman guides us on our way.
With chants and drums, and herbs and fire,
The Shaman's wisdom does inspire,
Seeking answers from the beyond,
In sacred trance, a bond is formed.
The portal opens, a portal wide,
Revealing secrets that do hide,
In realms unseen by mortal eyes,
Where ancient wisdom never dies.
The Shaman's journey, brave and bold,
A tale of mysteries untold,
In the portal's embrace, a sacred space,
Where truth and magic interlace.
So, heed the Shaman's call and seek,
The portal's gateway, unique and sleek,
For hidden truths and visions rare,
Await those who are willing to dare.
Prompt: Driving down a dark and lonesome road,
A weary traveler, with a heavy load,
Spots a figure standing by the side,
A hitchhiker waiting for a ride.
With a heart of compassion and a sense of grace,
The traveler slows down and stops in place,
Extending a hand with a friendly smile,
Offering a ride for a little while.
The hitchhiker climbs in with a grateful nod,
Sharing a tale of a broken road,
Speaking of lost love and shattered dreams,
The traveler listens, or so it seems.
As they journey on into the night,
The traveler feels a growing fright,
For the hitchhiker's story starts to shift,
Taking on an eerie and ghostly drift.
They reach a destination, a cemetery site,
The hitchhiker points and bids goodnight,
Vanishing into thin air without a trace,
Leaving the traveler in a bewildered haze.
The traveler looks around in fear,
But the hitchhiker is nowhere near,
Just a cold breeze and a haunting chill,
A mystery that remains unfulfilled.
As the traveler drives away in haste,
Wondering if it was a ghost they faced,
A legend of a vanishing hitchhiker told,
A tale that leaves the heart feeling cold.
For it's said that on that desolate road,
Prompt: In a chamber icy cold and still,
Lies a tale that gives both wonder and chills.
A legend whispered, a myth unfurled,
About Walt Disney, and a cryo chamber world.
They say he sleeps, in frozen slumber,
Preserved for future, a futuristic wonder.
His body lies, in a state so deep,
As if awaiting, a time to leap.
A visionaire, a dreamer bold,
Walt Disney's story, often told.
He built a kingdom, of magic and joy,
With characters beloved, that children enjoy.
But some believe, the tale is true,
That Disney's body, rests in icy hue.
A cryo chamber, a frozen tomb,
Awaiting a future, yet to bloom.
A chance to wake, in a world anew,
With technology, to make dreams come true.
A time when science, will conquer death,
And Walt Disney will take his next breath.
But skeptics doubt, this frozen tale,
As mere speculation, a far-fetched detail.
A myth or truth, it's hard to say,
About Walt Disney's cryo chamber, to this day.
So the legend lingers, with questions abound,
Did Disney really, on ice, surround?
A story that captivates, both young and old,
A tale of innovation, yet to be told.
Prompt: Walking Sam, a phantom of the night,
A spectral figure, with a presence so slight.
He roams the woods, with footsteps unheard,
A mysterious entity, like an elusive bird.
He's said to wander, in the deep, dark trees,
A shadowy figure, that no one truly sees.
Whispered tales, of a tall, lanky frame,
A hat pulled low, to conceal his name.
Walking Sam, a specter of lore,
With glowing red eyes, that chill to the core.
He's said to follow, those who dare to tread,
In the haunted forest, where he's often said.
Some claim to hear him, his footsteps light,
A rustle in the leaves, on a moonless night.
Others say he calls, with an eerie voice,
A warning to those, who make a reckless choice.
But who is Walking Sam, and what does he seek?
A mystery unsolved, that makes the curious weak.
Is he a ghost, or a figment of the mind?
A legend passed down, through stories entwined.
So if you venture, into the woods so deep,
Beware of Walking Sam, and the secrets he keeps.
For he may be watching, with eyes aglow,
A phantom of the night, with a story to show.
Prompt: Embers in the night, glowing warm and bright,
A flickering dance, against the dark of night.
They whisper secrets, of stories untold,
A timeless allure, that never grows old.
Their fiery hues, a captivating sight,
As they crackle and pop, casting shadows in the light.
They hold memories, of moments gone by,
A symphony of warmth, that lights up the sky.
Embers in the night, a beacon of hope,
A source of comfort, when the world feels remote.
They bring solace, in the midst of the unknown,
A guiding light, that helps us find our way home.
So gather 'round, and let the embers glow,
Their gentle warmth, a soothing, steady flow.
In the darkness, they're a reminder, shining bright,
That even in the night, there's still beauty and light.
Prompt: Starry skies that twinkle bright,
A moon that casts its gentle light.
Silent whispers of the breeze,
Rustling leaves among the trees.
Sparkling waves upon the shore,
Sand that tickles, forevermore.
Seagulls soaring, wings unfurled,
A symphony of the natural world.
Laughter ringing in the air,
Love's embrace, so warm and rare.
Precious moments, heartbeats strong,
A melody that plays life's song.
Time that flies, oh, much too fast,
Moments cherished, destined to last.
Life's beauty, in every breath,
A poem of moments, beyond all depth.
Prompt: Golden rays of morning light,
Dancing on the dew-kissed sight.
Birds on branches, chirping cheer,
Nature's symphony, so pure and clear.
Budding flowers, in colors bright,
Unfolding petals, a wondrous sight.
Fresh breeze whispers through the air,
Carrying scents of spring, so rare.
Gentle laughter, shared with a friend,
Heartfelt conversations that never end.
Love's embrace, warm and sweet,
Moments of joy, memories to keep.
Life's beauty, in every little detail,
A symphony of wonders, without fail.
Nature's artistry, a canvas so divine,
A short poem of life's beauty, forever will shine.
Prompt: Heart of Glass, a fragile gem,
Eyes that once sparkled, now condemn.
Shattered dreams, like shards of pain,
Cracks run deep, a broken refrain.
Once so whole, now cracked apart,
Fragile now, a wounded heart.
Tears like rivers, etch their way,
Through the cracks, day by day.
A heart once pure, now stained with sorrow,
Hopes and joys, a distant tomorrow.
Each beat a reminder of the past,
A love once strong, now fading fast.
But amidst the cracks, a glimmering light,
A chance to heal, to make things right.
With tender care and patient grace,
The heart can mend, find its place.
Though scars may linger, a reminder true,
That hearts can heal and love renew.
For a heart of glass, though it may break,
Can still find strength, and rise awake.
Prompt: A little girl's hand, small and sweet,
Holding on tight to mommy's beat.
With fingers soft and skin so pure,
Her innocence and joy endure.
She skips and twirls with childish glee,
Her laughter fills the air so free.
Her tiny hand reaches for the sky,
Dreaming of adventures up so high.
She plants flowers in the ground,
Delighting in each petal found.
Her hand touches nature's grace,
Exploring the world at her own pace.
With a heart so pure and eyes so bright,
Her little hand holds on so tight.
A beacon of hope, a ray of light,
A little girl's hand, a precious sight.
Prompt: Whose sand castle is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite happy though.
Full of joy like a vivid rainbow,
I watch him laugh. I cry hello.
He gives his sand castle a shake,
And laughs until her belly aches.
The only other sound's the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.
The sand castle is enjoyable, pink and deep,
But he has promises to keep,
After cake and lots of sleep.
Sweet dreams come to him cheap.
He rises from his gentle bed,
With thoughts of kittens in his head,
He eats his jam with lots of bread.
Ready for the day ahead.
Prompt: Whose kitten is that? I think I know.
Its owner is quite happy though.
Full of joy like a vivid rainbow,
I watch him laugh. I cry hello.
He gives his kitten a shake,
And laughs until her belly aches.
The only other sound's the break,
Of distant waves and birds awake.
The kitten is caring, empty and deep,
But he has promises to keep,
After cake and lots of sleep.
Sweet dreams come to him cheap.
He rises from his gentle bed,
With thoughts of kittens in his head,
He eats his jam with lots of bread.
Ready for the day ahead.
Prompt: In a quaint village, a story is told,
Of an old man, humble and bold.
With cows as his prized possession,
He lived a life of simple expression.
Each day he'd tend to his gentle herd,
With love and care, his actions spurred.
He knew them all by name and face,
Their gentle eyes, their calm grace.
Through sunshine and rain, he'd roam,
Guiding them to pasture and home.
He'd milk them by the morning light,
With hands so weathered, yet held them tight.
His cows were his family, his heart and soul,
They brought him joy, they made him whole.
Their milk brought sustenance and delight,
To the village, morning, noon, and night.
But as years passed, his strength did wane,
His steps slowed, his back in pain.
His cows sensed his weariness, his decline,
And gathered around him, so benign.
They nuzzled him with warmth and care,
As if to say, "We're here to share.
We've given you our all, our best,
Now it's time for you to rest."
The villagers watched in awe and sigh,
As the old man bid his herd goodbye.
With tears in his eyes and a heart so full,
He thanked them for a life so beautiful.
For in his cows, he found true treasure,
A bond so pure, a lasting pleasure.
Prompt: Golden strands cascade, a sunny waterfall,
Tumbling down in waves, with a mesmerizing sprawl,
Like tendrils of sunlight, spun into spun gold,
Long blonde curls, a treasure to behold.
They dance with every breeze, a playful twirl,
Exuding radiance, a bright and shining pearl,
Framing a face with a dazzling glow,
Long blonde curls, a heavenly show.
A crown of beauty, a mane so fair,
A hallmark of elegance, beyond compare,
They whisper secrets, of love and delight,
Long blonde curls, a captivating sight.
Prompt: In Tennessee, a tale is told,
Of a spirit feared, mysterious and bold.
A haunting legend, known so well,
Of the Bell Witch, an eerie spell.
It started with a farmer named John Bell,
His family, tormented by an unseen spell.
Banging on walls, voices in the night,
A force that filled them all with fright.
The Bell Witch, they called the ghost,
A malevolent spirit, feared the most.
It whispered secrets, foretold their fate,
Unleashing fear they couldn't abate.
The witch took many forms, they say,
A black dog, a rabbit, night and day.
It laughed, it mocked, it scratched and bit,
Its presence a terror, a harrowing fit.
The Bell family tried to flee,
But the witch pursued with malicious glee.
It taunted them with knowledge unknown,
A torment that chilled them to the bone.
Word of the witch spread far and wide,
As curious visitors came to the Bell's side.
But the witch's wrath, it did not abate,
It grew more powerful, full of hate.
In the end, John Bell succumbed,
To the Bell Witch, his fate was numbed.
The spirit vanished, leaving mystery behind,
A legend that lingers, a tale enshrined.
The Bell Witch, a legend so old,
Prompt: On a stormy eve, when lightning splits the sky,
And thunder roars with a ferocious cry,
A lone figure braves the tempest's wrath,
A fearless rider, blazing a thunderous path.
Mounted on a horse, swift and bold,
With eyes ablaze, and a heart so bold,
They ride with power, a force of nature,
Through rain and wind, with unwavering stature.
Their cloak billows, like a darkened cloud,
As they charge through the storm, headlong and proud,
Their mane and tail, a tempest's fury,
As they ride on, with a relentless hurry.
With lightning crackling in their wake,
And thunder rumbling with each stride they take,
They ride with wild abandon, without fear,
Embodying the storm, loud and clear.
They are the Thunder Rider, a force of might,
Harnessing the storm's electrifying light,
A symbol of strength and untamed power,
Riding the storm, hour after hour.
Through darkness and chaos, they ride on,
A mythic figure, never to be outshone,
For they are the embodiment of nature's might,
The Thunder Rider, a tempest in the night.
Prompt: Lazy Tree, inspired by art from tomasz alen kopera. Andy Fairhurst. Hyperdetailed, Silent Maiden. In the art style of Norman Rockwell And Bernard Buffet. anime. Anime Key Visual, Japanese Manga, Pixiv, Zerochan, Anime art, Fantia. 8k resolution concept art intricately detailed trending on Artstation
Prompt: Dreamlike Landscape and darkwave skull. Hyperdetailed. 8k resolution concept art trending on Artstation. In the style of Maginel Wright Enright Barney
Prompt: A ferocious extremist, fueled by rage,
Spreading chaos, with violence as their stage.
Their beliefs, extreme and fanatic,
Leaving devastation, tragic and dramatic.
With zeal and fervor, they seek control,
A twisted ideology, taking its toll.
Their actions ruthless, their motives dire,
Igniting fear, like a consuming fire.
But extremism, it shall not prevail,
For love and peace will always prevail.
We stand united, against the storm,
With compassion and tolerance, our true norm.
So let us rise, with courage bold,
Rejecting hate, and staying untold,
That extremism, with its dark allure,
Will never triumph, as we endure.
Prompt: In the field, he stands alone,
A tattered figure, weathered and prone.
His straw-stuffed form, ragged and bare,
A diehard scarecrow, with a haunted air.
Once, he was new, and filled with might,
A protector, in the daylight bright.
With outstretched arms, and burlap face,
He guarded the crops, with steadfast grace.
Through wind and rain, he stood his ground,
A sentinel, always around.
He scared away the birds and pests,
Keeping the harvest, at its best.
But time went on, and seasons passed,
The sun and rain, took their toll at last.
His straw grew thin, his burlap frayed,
His posture slouched, his presence swayed.
Yet, he held on, with unwavering will,
A diehard scarecrow, standing still.
His purpose clear, though worn and torn,
He guarded the field, from dusk till morn.
His eyes, though stitched, still held a gleam,
A silent sentinel, in the moonlight's beam.
A reminder of resilience and might,
A symbol of perseverance, day and night.
The seasons changed, as years went by,
But the scarecrow stood, beneath the sky.
A testament to unwavering might,
A diehard scarecrow, in the fading light.
Prompt: On a distant planet, so far away,
Where stars were bright, and skies were grey,
A laser holiday, they did prepare,
With glowing beams that filled the air.
The alien beings, with joy and cheer,
Gathered 'round, as the day drew near.
Their lasers gleamed, in hues so bright,
A spectacle, a stunning sight.
The laser lights, a wondrous dance,
Twisting, twirling, in cosmic trance.
Colors shifted, from red to blue,
Creating a spectacle, so grand and true.
The creatures danced, in rhythm and beat,
Their hearts aglow, with festive heat.
Their planet lit up, in radiant display,
A laser holiday, in a dazzling array.
They sang and laughed, in jubilation,
In celebration, of a grand occasion.
With lasers beaming, and hearts alight,
They danced through the day, and all the night.
The laser holiday, a time of mirth,
A celebration, of cosmic worth.
A galaxy of beings, united in delight,
Under laser lights, so brilliant and bright.
Prompt: In the dark of night, with stars above,
A hero rises, full of love.
With cape and mask, a figure bold,
Fights for justice, brave and bold.
Through the shadows, he swiftly moves,
Protecting innocents, he proves,
No crime too great, no villain too tough,
He's Midnight Justice, strong and gruff.
He rights the wrongs, he seeks the truth,
His heart unwavering, resolute.
With fists of fury, and a heart of gold,
He battles evil, brave and bold.
Injustice trembles at his might,
As he fights for what is right.
With unwavering courage, he takes a stand,
To bring justice to a troubled land.
In the silence of the midnight hour,
He fights with all his strength and power.
A beacon of hope in the darkest night,
Midnight Justice, a hero's light.
Prompt: A Zen guardsman, calm and still,
Meditates upon the hill,
A watchful eye, a tranquil heart,
In perfect harmony, a work of art.
With focused mind and steady breath,
He guards the gate, protecting death,
His armor gleams with inner light,
A beacon of peace, serene and bright.
He moves with grace, in mindful flow,
Unwavering, both high and low,
His sword a symbol of skillful means,
His presence calm, like gentle streams.
He embodies strength, yet seeks no fight,
His essence pure, a guiding light,
In perfect balance, he stands tall,
A Zen guardsman, guardian of all.
His wisdom deep, his spirit free,
He guards with love and unity,
In every moment, fully present,
A living testament to Zen's essence.
So in the stillness of his stance,
A Zen guardsman finds his trance,
A warrior of peace, unwavering and true,
A timeless symbol of Zen's virtue.
Prompt: Salty sneakers, worn and frayed,
A tale of journeys, long and laid,
Traveled far and traveled wide,
Through sand and surf, with joy and pride.
They've trekked along the sandy shores,
Where crashing waves, their melody roars,
Leaving traces of saltwater brine,
A testament to adventures divine.
They've hiked up mountains, rocky and steep,
Where trails are rugged, and valleys deep,
Leaving imprints on the rugged terrain,
A story of resilience, hard to explain.
They've wandered through forests, lush and green,
Where mossy paths are serpentine,
Leaving footprints in the softest loam,
A memory of nature's welcoming home.
These salty sneakers, weathered and worn,
Hold memories of adventures born,
They carry stories of journeys past,
Of steps taken, both slow and fast.
For every journey, a tale to tell,
Of salty sneakers, worn so well,
A testament to wanderlust's call,
A reminder of the world's grand sprawl.
Dream Level: is increased each time when you "Go Deeper" into the dream. Each new level is harder to achieve and
takes more iterations than the one before.
Rare Deep Dream: is any dream which went deeper than level 6.
Deep Dream
You cannot go deeper into someone else's dream. You must create your own.
Deep Dream
Currently going deeper is available only for Deep Dreams.
