Faces emerge from the shadows of my darkness, skin pale white, bloodless, cold; hidden within me in plain sight, only showing themselves at night, as real as it may seem it is just a dream.
Shallow breaths, hot and humid course across my neck, urging me to break the silence, as my heart pounds within my chest. The shadows crowd my night as a constrictor does it's prey.
Body weak and drained rises up, to greet each day, and if I could only say, as real as it may seem it's only a dream.. A wicked dream; one that lives within me, one which is set free, when I dream.
(DOR,112910)
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Hello Ron, I am pretty much a sucker to read most anyone's poem or poems that speak to dreams or dreaming. I like this one a lot from a dark stand point. The best thing about a bad dream is that is a dream. Hopefully a bad dream that will not come true. We all know that we precieve so much about our selves and things around us through our dreams. In your spare time please at least review my poem: 'Distant dream' thanks J. L.