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Luna Dreams

Chaotic Dreamtime Love

By Christopher LloydPublished about a year ago 1 min read
2

It starts;

one moment, I’m afraid of another sleepless night,

the next, I’m tumbling through the kaleidoscope.

Aware that I’m asleep,

hungry for the adventure.

The people;

People I know, yet have never met.

Moments of deep affection, true love.

Then loss.

Moments of deepest regret

for things I’ve never done.

Yet somewhen, another life,

experiences carried over.

Lessons learned too late.

The engine screams.

She screams beside me;

terror.

Fun.

Excitement.

...Terror.

Tumbling now,

the chasm yawns.

The impact…

Sunshine,

golden green.

She’s laughing now

atop the hay.

The wedding dancers

all around.

Now black with grief.

The sunshine’s gone.

Rain rivulets on soot-streaked glass

blur the mired streets beyond.

The darkened room

with presence dread

and backs turned

on that foul-some bed.

A leaden heart,

with leaden feet

marching to a leaden beat.

Stumbled tread

in column held

behind her pall

on wheeled bier.

That deep black well

where once was joy.

Is all turned topsy of a sudden

as silvered sea

bears all away

beneath that moon,

so full, so free.

Helter skelter,

faces, places.

She reaches up, care in her face,

her hand caresses my cheek.

The world goes still,

peace floods my heart.

Then flat calm sea,

dark, deep green,

rising silent as the wall approaches,

lifting my boat,

my small, frail boat,

up, up, up,

the top is breaking,

yet still on up

now rushing, racing, surfing wild,

no control,

a prayer for an end.

Silence

floating over deep,

dark beneath the moonlit grey.

Limbo.

Dread.

Something moves;

a swirl of silver and black,

down, deep down.

She rises all around,

and cradled in her upturned hand,

I’m saved.

The peace.

The warmth.

The rest.

Safe

Now tumbling once more,

joyful, free.

We’re rolling, racing,

down the rabbit-chewed hillside;

cartwheels,

roly-poly,

laughing all together.

Standing, swaying, laughing at the foot,

our mad group of carefree kids.

She laughs up at my face,

then kisses me.

My first kiss.

I awake.

The sense of loss overwhelms.

Who was she?...

surreal poetry
2

About the Creator

Christopher Lloyd

A lifetime in horticulture, of one sort or another - a life of lessons. And now a new identity; 'Retired'. Writing in the morning, bees and gardens in the afternoon and art in the evenings. That's the plan. When I can stick to it...

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  • Emmerence Hovellabout a year ago

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