The River

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.