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 ?
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