The River
Weird dreams and not-quite nightmares
Cry in your sleep.
When the tears won't fall,
Won't catch the light, cry.
Let them nourish the ethereal
Lilies of the dead.
.
Look now at this river of petals,
This moon-white river of dead dreams
And rotten plans.
What a pretty sight they make,
The white lilies.
.
The sunflowers, crimson like sunset,
Bleed along the bank,
Staining the currents red
With the warm blood of what could have been.
Christ, what a sight.
.
It can't be a dream but...
It's too pretty for a nightmare.
Cool against the hand,
Cold in the eyes,
Freezing in the chest.
.
An ice dagger of certainty.
This is too cold for a dream.
But the moon shines, the petals gleam.
There is something about the reaching stamen and pistil
That screams nothing is as it seems.
.
The lilies are brighter now, insistent as they move
Downstream.
So cry now, cry in your sleep.
Feed this river,
This river of dead, decaying dreams.
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.
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Reader insights
Outstanding
Excellent work. Looking forward to reading more!
Top insights
Excellent storytelling
Original narrative & well developed characters
Eye opening
Niche topic & fresh perspectives
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Comments (3)
Theres something kind of barbaric and inevitable and can't tear the eyes awayish here.
I second D.K.'s observations. Wonderful writing, as always.
Very vivid and surreal! Like how you delved into an unsettling but not frightening dreamscape. Flow felt like a underlying chant with the sprinkling of rhyme