The Dream

It was it was her face still though now white as cold as marble she would not smile at me anymore in the sweet way she had of smiling but it was still her face the face I had seen in my minds eye carrying my heart through the days weeks months of my long travels how I adored her pleasure on my return And to have found her faithless ! My mind was a hive of swarming wasps whose stings were my remorseless thoughts I had shameful and bestial imaginings of her I killed sweet innocence with my knife But it was a dream a dreadful dream and nothing more ! But if a man should have a dream and in that dream should take a knife to destroy himself and the knife were to fall from his hand and if waking saw where the knife had fallen what then ?