23 January 2014

The Dreamer

Dark mountains form silhouettes

Against a painful sky

As the ground gasps fire and

Sounds fury and rage.

A broken door in the floor of the world

Screams wide open

And the panic in the center of the earth

Breaks free.

Oily haze burns the air

Smoke and grit dam the atmosphere

Like spattered paint.

The howl of the sunrise

Bursts through the mind

And the world turns orange to red.

I stand on a hilltop baring

teeth to the gale

In a wild beastly grimace of joy.

As the sound turns to pain

and the sky bleeds black,

I hold my hands out

to thick dark rain,

Bathed in firelight and

the blood of the sky,

I watch the world born again.

When I wake, the ashes

Still taste on my tongue

And my ears still ring with the screams.

Sweat stings my eyes and

Burns in my hair;

Which am I?

The dreamer or the dream?

(March 2011) 

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