Tuesday, May 29, 2012

A Wake for the Awoken

Waylaid by sleep before I could fall to sleep,
I dream of dreaming down by the deep.
Deep in the water, yet not deep at all;
For I hear the sound of a soundless footfall.
See the images before me, before they occur;
I smell the enemy, I can smell his dank fur!
Grip I the knife that grips my hand tight;
Both in my dream, and in my sleep tonight.
Creaks open the door within my open mind,
Red eyes in a dream, are the one's I find.
Yet closes the door with a gentle creak
In the night wherein my mind still doth seek
To understand what it hears, hearing it dimly,
To see what it see's, seeing it grimly.
Feel's the touch of a fiend, touching mine,
It tightens it's hold, as holding a vine.
But reality shows a woman showing love
By tenderly clenching her lovers hand above.
Quick as a flash of lightning alight
With the power of quicksand,
Where darkness becomes sight
In a desert like land,
The knife within his dreaming fist comes up,
And turns what was love and loves own pup,
Into a bath of suffering demand.
Now wakes the woken man to make
A funeral of his own wife, a wake;
Now awake is he to the folly of his way;
For he feared the coming of gentle day.

                   A Wake for the Awoken, (c) Luke Bennette, May 2012

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