Wednesday, August 08, 2012

Death of a dream

A mad wild dream of running down the stream
Collecting rogue pebbles that gather no moss
Kicking an odd twig or two right across the edge
The birds singing happy songs in words I don’t get

Where the houses and buildings melt away
The earth swallows the tar whole, black and set
The smoke retreats back into those lowly tubes
And freedom breathes gold, blue and red

The sky paints the stars in limited edition pixie dust
As they glimmer shyly from behind their veils
The moon, drunk from a night or wanton revelry
Laughs like a delirious old fool – loud and resonant

It’s in this dream you appear from behind the shadows
Your blade sharpened, dripping of red from the last battle
Creases of sorrow and death folded above your brows
And you crush the soft glades beneath your muddy boots

You come to find sleep you say, as your hands smell of pain
Men have hunted you, chased you and pierced your faith
And women have forsook their intuition and screamed
In fear that you have been sent by the unknown evil

“I ask for nothing,” you claim, “only some quiet moment.”
And settled under the non-judgemental tree to close your lids
I watch you, in deference, as only I can see the truth in you.
“Rest here,” I say, “for the morning will be a better promise.”

Somewhere, miles away, in a world that has lost its dreams
He watches my body shiver to a myriad happenings
And questions the whole morality of our existence
“If even by mistake, she dreams,” he decides, “she must die.”