Poem

The picture in this post is a small portion of a larger painting by my favorite painter, Dali.  I remember learning he saw it in a dream….how cool are dreams?  Both in sleep and in reality.  But I’ve always wondered about nightmares.

 

THE DREAM

A failure to rise;

But not a failure in her eyes-

staring, glaring

At me at sunrise.

What is this dream-

That has become me, undone me,

           And has taken me by surprise.

I uncurl my hand-

To find lonely sheets

Beneath the fingers that grasp,

And unwrap, as I awake-

              And look out on my street.

Sleep-walking, and talking

Was she sweet-talking or sweet-walking?

As she closed my eyelids,

Under her key-door spell

                         Now I walk these streets of sewage, in sub-hell.

In bed, though above that stinking abode,

Her eyes still haunt that street-road

                         As I arrived home alone.

Never again did I see her, and never did she know

That though we walk the same streets,

O’er her the sewage floats,

                         Yet strikes me to the bone.

Oh, sub-hell, my hell,

My dream and her cream-

Cups of Coffee, milky toffee-

                           Awaken the dream!

 

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