Tag: dreaming

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Possession

I awaken to a black universe,
Like Gulliver during his travels,
Tied to the ground,
Flat upon my back,
And unable to move.

Any attempt at movement
Instructs the thorny vines
That bind me
To constrict.

Their vicious barbs bite
Into my flesh
And pull me deeper
Into the soil.

I struggle,

But every movement
Brings another tightening.

The vines wind around my limbs,
Across my chest,
Around my throat.

I try to scream,

But they tighten
Across my open mouth.

I gag and cough
As thorny particles
Fill my throat.

Each cough
Is met with greater pressure.

My breathing becomes laboured.
The pain unbearable.
I cannot move.
I cannot speak.
I cannot escape.

The vines possess me,

Holding me against the earth
As though my body
Belongs to them.

My eyes roll back to white.
My form begins to splinter,

I shatter into dust
That falls upon the soil.

The vines pull through
The surface,

Dragging the last remnants
Of me beneath the earth.

And then,
I awaken.

A white ceiling
Above me.

I lie still,
Confused,
Cold,
And crying.

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How Are You?

When I’m asked,
“How are you?”

My answer
Holds no truth.

Perhaps the first
Three letters of the question
Are jumbled,

Perhaps it should be,
Who are you?

For I am sleeping awake,

Waiting,
Surviving,
Sleepwalking.

Caught within
A strange dream,

Locked inside this body,
My holding cell.

Until I awaken again.

Perhaps then
I will find myself,

In whatever forgotten place
It is
That I have been lost.

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The End of Dreams

Far away through time,

A deep, resonant blast
Of distant horns sounds.

Rippling like thunder
As it peels across
The night sky.

Is it a calling,
A summoning,
Or a warning?

The source of the sound
Is unknown.

The depth of that single note
Leaves all dreamers
Cold as ice,
And still as stone.

It heralds
The end of dreams.

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The Race

If I close my eyes,
I can visualise it,

As though
I’m in the same place,
And yet everything else
Is peeled away.

All those layers
Of pointless toil
And torment,
Gone in an instant.

Leaving everything
That is good and now,
Remaining the same.

The march of time
Seems to be
Increasing its wretched pace,

While I’m beginning
To slow,
To stumble,
Beginning
To question:

Why am I in this race?

If I stop now,
The spectators will follow
The leaders,

And I can slip away
Quietly from the track,

Silently fall
Through the cracks,

And no one will notice
I had gone.

What a comfort,
What a joy,
What a moment
of complete bliss

It will be,
When my mind
Can finally stop running.

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Where am I when I dream?

I’m within a dark dreamscape.
Far away from
Any streetlights.

Beyond a rotting picket fence,
That seems to smile like
It is missing several teeth.

I sit, head in hands,
Beyond an unkempt garden
Of grass and brambles.

Behind thick vines
That grow and twist,
Sealing the entrance,
Where my mouth
Lies silent
And boarded shut.

My eyes,
Are cracked windows,
Painted shut with time
And stained with
Memories and detritus.

I am incarcerated,
For the term of my natural life,
Within this skull-shaped cell.

Propped up by hands,
Reinforced by rope,
Hope,
And rotting dreams.

Nursing
My aching bones,
And my scars
of grief,

That line the walls
Within dusty,
Broken frames.

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The ‘Follow Your Dream’ Fairytale

Daily writing prompt
What’s your biggest dream?
View all responses

It is slightly different terminiology,
However,
I don’t subscribe
To that way
Of thinking.

I don’t believe,
“You’ve gotta follow your dream.”
Is a particularly healthy life plan.

It sounds wonderful.
However,
It is the sort of garbage,
Disney has been selling
For generations.

But whoever decided
That every young person
Must have a dream,
Then dedicate
Their precious years
To pursuing it,
Was selling
A fairytale.

Don’t set the few years you have
Upon a self-destructive trajectory,
Chasing a life
That may be
Unrealistic,
Unattainable,
And impossible
To measure.

Perhaps the person
Who first told you
To follow your dream
Bought the same
Horse-shit themselves
Years before.

I wonder if they ever
Reached theirs?
Perhaps there is
A better way.

Set a goal.
A small one.
Make it achievable.
Make it real.
Make it measurable.

Know where
You’re going.
Identify the milestones
That tell you
You’re getting there.
Then begin.

I did this recently.

I wanted to improve
My writing.
Nothing more.
So I wrote.
For hours.
And hours.
I experimented.
I failed.
A lot.

But slowly,
I improved.
Short-term goal achieved.

Then came
Another thought.

Now that I can do this,
Perhaps I should make
A book.
A logical place
For all those words
To live.

Something to leave for my family
After I am gone.

But I didn’t know
How to make one.
So,
I learned.

Another goal.
Another process.
Another collection of mistakes.

Until eventually,
Short-term goal achieved.

I self-published two books.
A third is on its way.

Perhaps
They’re not great.
Perhaps they are.

That isn’t really
The point.
I did it.
I made something exist
That didn’t exist before
I started the process.

There was no
Lofty dream.

No,

“I shall become
A famous author!”

No,

“I shall be
The next Stephen King!”

Because that,
Is fantasy.

And worse,
It’s a destination
Over which
I have almost no control.

But writing?
I can do that.

Using my imagination?
I can do that too.

Improving?
I can work towards that.

Finishing a book?
I can measure that.

Publishing it?
I can learn how to do that.

So perhaps
Don’t follow your dream.

Follow
The next achievable thing.
Learn something fun.
Make something.
Finish something.
Then decide
What comes next.

Keep your feet
On the ground.
Keep your mind
Joyfully occupied
With things that bring
Personal satisfaction.

And if,
After enough
Small accomplishments,
You turn around
And discover
You’ve travelled far further
Than you expected,
Wonderful.

But don’t sacrifice
The life
You actually have
For some imagined life
You believe
You’re supposed
To reach.

Live today.
Make something today.
Enjoy something today.
Because tomorrow…

Was never
Part of the guarantee.

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Yesterday’s People

As I lay sleeping,
My mind winds back.

To people and faces forgotten,
Creating impossible moments,
With joyous,
Or confusing,
Outcomes.

Why am I shown
These images of deceit?
What purpose do they have,
Other to leave me,
Awake,
Wondering,
And melancholy.

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The Lost Lands of Dreaming

It had been many weeks
Since sleep
Had carried the dreamer
Beyond the waking world.

Reality had become
Loud.
Heavy.
Uncertain.

Yet, in the quiet hours
Before dawn,
Sleep finally deepened,
And once again
The Ocean of Dreams
Called them home.

They awoke upon the seabed.

Great dunes of pale sand
Stretched endlessly
Towards the horizon.

Seashells lay exposed,
Their songs long silenced.
Ancient shipwrecks
Rested crooked
Upon dry earth,
The ocean
Had quietly abandoned
This world.

The light house on the peninsula,
No longer shined a guiding light,
The sky hung grey and charcoal,
The dunes connected desolation,
To death.

The wildflowers lay lifeless,
Brown dry and withered,
The stench of rotting flora,
Filled the sleeper’s senses.

The willow trees hung like skeletons,
over dried thought ponds,
where the bones of dreamfish dried.

The edge of the great forest
Seemed hollow and emptied,
No longer a dividing wall,
It was now open for all to see,
As the dreamer walked within,
Every tree stood barren,
Their trunks black from burning,
Ashes covered the empty ground.

Great ribcages rose from the ash
Like broken cathedrals.
Entire packs of Devourers
Lay where they had fallen
Their hungry jaws still open,
As though death
Had caught them Mid-howl.

The mountain peak itself
Was but a grey stone.
Hanging in the landscape,
Bereft of snowy caps
And its lush forest base.
Low grey clouds crowned
It’s forgotten peak.

There was nothing here for the dreamer
No beauty remained.

The Cranes were absent
From the sky above,
Replaced by a brewing storm
That darkened the land,
And no songbirds sung.

Back standing upon the peninsula,
Looking out over the vacant sea,
The ground shook and lifted,
Rumbling as the great serpent
Grimvael began his approach.

Perhaps this was the cause,
For the grim vista
They were now unable to escape.

Grimvael breached the surface
Red eyed and hungry,
Its vast black mouth opened.

The serpent consumed
Both dream and dreamer.
Darkness fell.
Then a violent gasp.

Rain lashed the bedroom window.
Thunder rolled
Across the waking world.

The dreamer
Sat upright,
Listening.

Hoping that Grimvael
Had remained behind.

While all the time knowing
That the great serpent
Always remained within.

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