The Watcher's Dream

Don’t ask. Period.

The Watcher’s Dream

From earliest recall, you have tread upon me
Not into the body, always, internally
Knots of twisted thought, rage that you bring
Perhaps a believed gift, or not so this thing

Dark of the night, you ravage my mind
Incessant your voice, perpetual as time
Early childhood confusion, shouldn’t be mine
Direct, unpleasant, realistic, lacking the sublime

In stastis we sit, this thing, yes, you and I
With passage and war, once I will divide
You, foul creature, thing from a past
Away from me, will you be driven at last

Ethereal, ephemeral, vision, internal sight
My release revealed, dreaming under sweat again this night
Contorted, convoluted, distorted, you thought to tie
It was to be captured, and held, the wonder of the mind’s eye

Last days come without effort, no sorrow to be found
I beheld before me, strewn across soaken ground
Last moments, last breath, a warriors pride
Known now it is, to the Aelysian fields will I ride

Yes, in a circle of twelve fallen, strewn on the ground
Blood, broken bodies, severed heads to be found
Nemesis worthy, pain pure and true
Blood of life, what he takes from me, takes also from you

At last to threshold do I endeavor,
Death holds no sway, nor did it ever
Black abyss of hate you gave to me,
Last laugh will be mine, as Sophia kisses me free

Quite a struggle.

And quite a poem.

Mastriani - be honest now, you wear a lot of black don’tcha.

Nice* poem.

[size=75]*‘Nice’ in the ‘Don’t ever invite the author around to your house’ meaning of the word.[/size]

Thank you sir.

No, I wear a lot of “blues” … whatever you care to infer about that color.

Yes, I realise you don’t appreciate the writing, wasn’t expecting appreciation either.

Status quo. No, I am not psychotically inclined, just call it as I see it.