A Whimsical Girl’s Dream; A Dreadful Man’s Nightmare

Black-

A cold, dark drapery.

Anterior blackness.

Nay was it the self decapitating nightmare

puncturing hearts and

feasting on sorrow.

For it was the calming envelope of peace.

The calling man smiling.

An apricot-colored warmth,

like an ocean wave,

and I’m the sand.

The ghostly apparition,

whispers his recurrence.

At the white death,

his trophy taken.

I have been warned of his fateless dreads.

Thus, I share the purple dream.

Only, twas true.

The calling man spoke the tale,

not to petrify,

but to be painted into father’s mind

like calligraphy.

Mother knows the false thievery-

taking souls in the night

and shattering golden hearts.

Only,

It was cliche innocence.

She bore the trophy as a gift for the calling man,

grandfather,

Thus only wanting it as sapphire memory.

This Shakespearean tragedy resolved,

but I am left standing,

alone,

alive,

forever.

His wretched curse blinding me.

This hope of his scarlet return.

The everlasting blaze

will shadow me white,

forevermore.