Dream I: a Hypnopompic Realization
Snapped into a block.
Feet planted in cool, grey cement at the deepest part of a cul-de-sac.
Homes of others stretch on, their lights sadistically feeding the darkness.
A silver horn firmly grasped, a music stand facing me.
A book smothered with ink sits upon the stand.
Time begins to slow...
Pulses begins to haste...
I interpret the music with the silver horn,
stumbling at each line with difficulty.
A potent storm begins to burst,
atmospheric aquifers have cracked!
Light, water! Wind!
The ink begins to transfigure before my eyes,
what was an eloquent phrase of 24 notes is now a clobber of 113.
The Wind Bellows:
"No moon nor sun to light the way,
But clashing winds to fuel the fray!
Expect to hear the things you fear,
Expect to lose the things most near!"
In the distance!
The lights are dimming down the street...!
And suddenly...
They are off.
Red screeching pain fills my heart...
every light has gone black, darkness has eaten its last course.
Blood begins to flood my eyes like an ocean drowning a dune.
I fall.
Snapped into a cool stasis.
Copyright © Noah Dugan | Year Posted 2013
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment