A Prescience Within A Dream{ Inspired By Edgar Allan Poe} Poem by Frank James Ryan Jr...fjr

Standing over a prescience I saw -
an ocean carrying bodies cold
on jagged tide, bobbing, colliding -
joints snapping like wooden matchsticks,
in all stages of rigor-mortis,
'neath a rise of smoked spiral mist.

Could someone I know be in this dimension?
This I was thinking, as the telephone rang.


[Oceans hold presage within their depths,
great advents of breath in a world below,
breeding life, earth...housing the dead -
miles deeper than those six beneath
the carved arched grey stone].

I heard a voice, ssssh... just like yours
then a chill past my Mind of dark Wind.
I awoke this morning to the sound of howling
and the gnashing of knuckles on broken glass,
a hideous scene to awaken to...
and the new, this news... insidious news
turning my stomach in fits and starts.

You drowned last night
in search of something.
We'll never know what,
we'll never know why.

I saw the ice, I shivered hard,
I leapt from a stern
into white-caps of ice,
sharp and cutting as a Warriors sword
through layers of flesh.

I saw your eyes
look back at mine;
I took your hand,
you smiled at me,
you told me to leave
this abstract dream -
then said goodbye;
you were dreaming too.



_____________II______________

_
I'm awake now, upon your request,
despite my fear.....my prescience;
and I'm standing afront your casket now,
thinking bout many strange queries;
queries that warrant rationale answers,
answers I fear will never appear-
in another dream.

And all the while the scent of florals
smother my thoughts...yet respectfully.
So, I walk outside, to take a drag,
deja-vu...as I exhale a spiral
of cold smoke in rising.

And, I don't understand,
dreams.......very strange,
penetrating their visual-
I M P A C T................ -
upon the Third-Eye,
repeating over and over their message.
THEIR MESSAGE...THEIR MEssage...
their Message, their message...t h e i r, ssssssh...

I am not clairvoyant,
yet, just the same -
I felt your hand,
ice-cold and purple,
I heard your voice
summon me,
telling me...sweetly-

you had died,
you were happy,
you felt my hand touch you,
and it was pink and warm.

Omen, presage....merely a dream?
It matters not...
for whatever it be............................,
you are gone now
within the prescience of a Dream.


__________ FjR ___________





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Frank James Ryan Jr. / FjR
Topic(s)of this poem: dark