Waking Up To Death
I was a starving minion,
questing after the deep highs
of luscious laughter
that slip off slumber's linen wings,
pleasantly removed
from the pain of wanting
what can not be owned
and so I begged asylum of Nyx
and buried my face in her bosom
seeking a bed among the poppies,
so I could seduce Hypnos
at the edge of oblivion;
and be sleep inoculated
against plagues of Pathos.
I sold my shadow
for the opium phantasms flung
from Gates of Ivory,
such beautiful deceptions,
flawlessly manufactured
to be reality resistant
but lately,
the Tribe of Dreams
have brought blistered drops of winged darkness
from Gates of Horn
to kiss me goodnight
and populate my skin
with the cool slick of death
and disturbed somniloquies,
prophetic warnings from Thanatos...
if I loiter too long
at the edge of Death
I will have paid my life
for false dreams.
Copyright © Jean Marble | Year Posted 2009
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