I fell into a shallow dream
as often as I have, and do;
amongst sleep and wake where things seem
so nebulous between the two.
A dead leaf floating down a stream;
the cold unknown lurking below;
the radiance of sun on high,
slow winding in the gentle flow
while some familiar friends drop by;
a mourning dove, a cawing crow.
There’s wonder in our shallow dreams
just past the point of counting sheep,
where nothing is quite what it seems;
a world half in, half out of sleep;
where laughter interposes screams.
You can awake; it’s true to say,
sometimes awash with burning guilt;
did I really she betray?
Whose crimson blood was it that spilt?
The bedclothes wet, in disarray.
Soft sibilance departed a while past now;
lost in family, familiarity,
an indiscretion.
Soulless silence interposes churlish crows.
The weightiness of strangled screams hangs heavy
deafening the two.
Whisper; wounded, slain.
This or That, Vol 18 Poetry Contest: Wounded Whisper
Sponsored by: Edward Ibeh
Date written: 24th May 2023
maroon lunatic
earth interposes moon and sun ~
invisible cape