A Passing Dream
You left me empty come morning.
And if you left on the morning breath
Of the world as it creaked and groaned its way back
To wakefulness would I be bereft
Of the colours of sunrise?
Would I miss the mist of the retreating clouds
Covering your eyes?
__________________________________
I would hold it against you,
Leaving when my eyes were glued shut by dreams
And soft, gentle impossibilities,
Like I hold the stories of my ancestors
Scribbled on ancient parchment against my bosom,
As it heaves, as I grieve.
__________________________________
What sort of cowardly soul slithers away from
Starbursts, the celestial bodies dipping their fingers
Into the paint and smudging it in long arcs
Across the canvas, the back of our eyelids?
What fool leaves before the art has even had a chance
To flourish on our tongues?
__________________________________
The kind of creature to balk at sunrise,
Crow in disappointment as the moon
Bleeds blue light across uncovered scars
Is the same sort to leave lips trembling around words
Whispered in the seconds between today and tomorrow;
The flame that slaughters the moth.
__________________________________
If you vanished from the swirling, delicate space
Nestled tightly between nightmare and reality,
And left me empty come morning,
I would fill your vacancy with carnival mirrors
And rose thorns
So that you could never think to trespass again.
__________________________________
Thank you for reading! Give it a heart if you like it and if you really like it, drop a tip! Happy New Year.
About the Creator
Silver Serpent Books
Writer. Interested in all the rocks people have forgotten to turn over. There are whole worlds under there, you know. Dark ones too, even better.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.