THE PAINTER OF DREAMS

THE  PAINTER OF DREAMS 

The more I looked at his photo, 
the more his eyes seemed depicted.
I could feel a strong power from 
what the artist painted.
The eyes of this image holds great details
of something long ago, that could capture
ones soul through the eyesight.

Somehow this given me so much fright.
This transformation I seen once before
yet, it was only in one of my dreams-
Oh, how it made me want to scream.
I could see the wild animal in its eyes.
I understand it is only a painting-
Yet, this painting has a way of speaking.

And it speaks without words.
It sends a strong creeping feeling into the air
with ancient energy of something evil.
If you stare long enough, you could feel
the cold emptiness, that brings on unpleasantness
knowing there is something not right-
I watch how the artist is painting.

He is acting as if he is no longer in control 
of what he is doing.
It is like the image is taking over to be reborn 
in its own ancient form.
During the daylight hours, 
I can feel we are about to be under attack. 
I'm starting to get a cold chill up and down my back.

My own imaginations started running wild
I thought I seen something mythological creature, 
that specialized in terror from the Dark Ages.
What stands next to the beast, 
is a beautiful goddess with the name that is written
upon the beast right wing- "Moonlight the queen 
of all darken dreams belongs to he."

I could see his long pointed fingers around her waist, 
as her eyes stared right into mine.
In spite of all of this awkwardness, I find my story 
in her eyes, as if she is attempting to speak.
Yet, her words are hidden deep behind her stealing
adolescent glances-I remembered seeing her in 
a dream as she was piercing at my heart, 

as if shes pushing her spirit upon me, 
trying to become me in my sleep while I dream.
But when I awake I could feel her spill over me, 
like she is taking over my spirit-
and this evil darkness of a beast is flushed
with lust and hate breaking down faith.
It was like Yesterday in that cloud of gray.

When the painter has lost his way-
I watched as he turned to me with a smile on his face.
He has a smile that would drive anyone wild
his teeth is very clean and perfect in all alignment.
Yet, I have see this smile before-
The painter has taken on the image of he that haunts 
me in all my dreams, but how can that be? 

Poetic Judy Emery © 1984
Copyright © Judy Emery| Year Posted 1984 

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