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Tuesday, January 5, 2010

The Dream

Guns to my head, thoughts I dread,
Voices calling,
The past screaming,
My precious blood soaked my air,
Every breathe I took, a valiant gasp for air.

These men unknown to me, thieves,
Talking in foreign tongue,
Laughing loud,
All bottles bone dry,
Pushed onto my knees, my hands behind my back,
They said I was going to see black.

Struggling to free my hands, in pain,
They kicked my back,
My wrists burnt,
Time was running out,
Familiar faces, despised me for the deeds done,
They were to do what they came to do.

They held me up by my hair, I was helpless,
They threw me onto a table,
My body crying to be free,
My eyes wet with blood and tears (closed tight) ,
Metal against my head, cold as death,
The trigger pressed, instant death.

I awoke feeling full of life, the same place,
That place was no heaven,
Nobody around,
No blood found,
I was alive, overjoyed at that simple fact,
For as strange as it may seem it was just a dream.
Andrew Lunel
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COMMENTS
Justin Unanue 07 February 2010
I really like this poem, has a very good story to it, very good wording and imagery, very good story. Now if I may add this one criticism without offending you here it is, you were in trouble and were about to die, and all that which is good, but then it turns out to be a dream... so why are we supposed to care?
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Cynthia Buhain-baello 05 January 2010
Intense, creative, and story woven so excellently in this narrative makes this poem a masterpiece. The title ties the whole poem appropriately and the last lines give the final bow to create this lovely gift of a poem! 10+++++
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