THE DREAM
That old, abandoned building. That reoccurring dream. That undying vision of a dying place left me frightened and curious, every night of my sleepless life.
I have no idea where this place is. It's old, decayed, and forgotten. It's always the same building. There's a hallway with old, picture-less picture frames on the walls. The single, swinging bulb in the hallway lights up practically nothing. The paint on the walls is chipping. At the end of the hallway, there is but a single window.
Last night, I dreamt of her,
The girl who forever plagues my mind
With thoughts of wonder
And fills my heart with fond feelings
I cannot begin to describe.
We were laying side-by-side,
A mere reach from each other,
When she took me in her arms,
A feat that even my mind
In its dreamy state could not comprehend.
The night dragged slowly on,
My dream-self enjoyed each moment
Of resting peacefully with her,
Doing nothing but watching the others who
Had gathered,
Who had witnessed our affection.
It seemed too real,
And when I awoke,
There was no one.
In my dreams, she loves me,
And in reality, I love her.
When will dreams
I Dreamt the Moon Was Backwards by Hi-Im-A-Sick-Fuck, literature
Literature
I Dreamt the Moon Was Backwards
Screamed in my dream,
Wondered was it
Out loud?
Thought I saw a sound.
Look to soon and you'll miss it,
Close your eyes and you might see it,
Open your ears, it'll shine brighter,
Can you?
Or maybe, something else?
Where have the bones in my legs gone?
Stand on my head?
But, I'm made of lead,
Ouch.
Last night I dreamt the moon was backwards,
Surely an omen, something awful,
Of what? I'll never know,
Never anything for sure.
There's a world in the city,
Through a portal in the sky,
The world is made of magic,
A land where all the houses fly,
The night sky is a china plate,
A baby doll told me a story,
About how one day it might break.
First time I went there I was only six years old,
A lady told me to pick a house,
Imagine whatever I wanted,
and I would find it all inside.
I went there again in a dream last night.
My bed room hadn't changed since my last visit,
Styled like a 1920's hotel,
And there where all my favourite porcelain dolls,
Gathering dust upon the shelves.
On the bed a big thick book,
Thousands of pages of different stories,
Have t
As you sleep in the palm of my hand
I will wish you a restful peace
And although on my mood you depend
I shall never my whim release
All the curtains will softly close
With a rustle of crispy gauze
And I'll sit at the hearthrug's rim
As you silently so repose
At the embers I wistfully look
But they tell me no secret words
Of the playthings you'll have in your nook
Or of where you may chase the birds ...
Yes, I know, this has all yet to be
After years upon years have passed
When you will be so wayward and free
And my palm will not hold you fast
But as yet you still sleep in my hand
And I ponder of what you dream
Of a far-away