Home » Poems » Anya Chebukina » The Dream

The Dream

My dreams are fake
But the realm exists
But where can i 
Go and sleep

There is not peace in some ones dream
Some are sweet and some are not

How can i go to bed
When i know that soon I might die

In my dream i run down hills
I fall and roll to the ground

Where do i turn? 
Where do i run?

But there is nothing 
And no one around

And soon i see it
The end of my dream

I know it's the end
But i just can't wake

Soon this figure is so close
I feel its heat and smell of old

But something different starts to happen
The darkness turns to light

The smell of old
To smell of flowers in the night

The heat of hate 
To the heat of love

And then this figure is all on light
What is happening?

What do i do?
Where do i run?

Nothing matters
I want to see

What happens in this world of mine
Is for me to know

Soon this figure will hurt me here
But no, not this time

This figure is an older boy
About the age of me

He looks so lonely
So out of place 
what do i do to such a face?

But when he sees me
His face lights up

A smile 
A tear

As he walk up to me
I know not what to do

But soon he's standing here
Right beside me

Leaning down i smell his skin
Leaning up i feel his lips

So soft but yet so sad

And so i wake at last
Hoping its done at last

The next two days i have no dream
So strange it seems to me

The second day it seemed
Somewhat out of place

The air is filled with that one smell
The smell of flowers in the night

This boy is stand out of place
On the curb of a bus stop

He sees me and smiles
and walks over toward me

And then i remember that
It was the Dream.

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