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.”