"Dream." He whispered softly.
Her dreams were haunted with foul imagery. This evening, however, it was different. When he held her, she felt secure, when she kissed him, she felt life. Life. Always fleeting from her. She escaped, once, into her dreams, and his words remind her of a time when the reality of a situation meant very little. All that mattered was her perception and understanding of the situation.
He cried. He cried because he saw in her all that he could never be. Beautiful, loved, secure, focused, someone. He lay there, and he dreamed as he focused intently upon the dancing shadows of the flickering moonlight. The window excreted the evening air, and the drawn shade pulled the strings of the puppet shadows that he witnessed. He drifted, slowly, into a restless sleep.
Dream. They dreamnt. He of falling, a dream that often found its seed in his slumber. She, of death, not of her own, never her own, but of everything and everyone she loved. They died slowly, they died quickly, they died while she lived, and outlived them all, alone, angry, bitter at the world that cursed her with life. He died before her, she weeped, and found no comfort. She awoke.
She awoke.
She remembered when his head would crease the pillow next to hers. He would leave for work before she awoke. His sent still strong next to her, his scent the only security she needed to crawl from bed in the morning. Two years. Two years had she awaken to nothing but one night stands, drunken binges, bloody at times, covered in semen. But never, never, to one that she loved. He had fallen, of his own volition, unable to find a focus in his life. She had deluded herself into the belief that she was the only focus he needed, and that through her he would be able to find relief, meaning, life. It had not been so. And once more, she awakens from her dream into nightmare.
____
5 Minute story for the Sinn*y* (mwhahah); challenge accepted, and delievered, and now posted here as well.
* * * * *
Dream.
For the heart holds fast to the reality we perceive,
But the mind knows that we weave our own realities.
Dream.
To dream is to weave upon the empty page
A reality scored by the heart of the pain of the pleasure of the texture of the reality
of life.
Who among you can say the dream has less weight then the reality it encompasses,
Echos!
Who among you can say that the reality you perceive had more weight then the dream it weaves.
Who among you dreams that the reality you behold was the dream that you cradle when no light bears burden upon your sullen features.
Sullen, the night, enriched the dream, enchanted the soul.
Dream.
____
Another 5 Minute poem from that thread.
Her dreams were haunted with foul imagery. This evening, however, it was different. When he held her, she felt secure, when she kissed him, she felt life. Life. Always fleeting from her. She escaped, once, into her dreams, and his words remind her of a time when the reality of a situation meant very little. All that mattered was her perception and understanding of the situation.
He cried. He cried because he saw in her all that he could never be. Beautiful, loved, secure, focused, someone. He lay there, and he dreamed as he focused intently upon the dancing shadows of the flickering moonlight. The window excreted the evening air, and the drawn shade pulled the strings of the puppet shadows that he witnessed. He drifted, slowly, into a restless sleep.
Dream. They dreamnt. He of falling, a dream that often found its seed in his slumber. She, of death, not of her own, never her own, but of everything and everyone she loved. They died slowly, they died quickly, they died while she lived, and outlived them all, alone, angry, bitter at the world that cursed her with life. He died before her, she weeped, and found no comfort. She awoke.
She awoke.
She remembered when his head would crease the pillow next to hers. He would leave for work before she awoke. His sent still strong next to her, his scent the only security she needed to crawl from bed in the morning. Two years. Two years had she awaken to nothing but one night stands, drunken binges, bloody at times, covered in semen. But never, never, to one that she loved. He had fallen, of his own volition, unable to find a focus in his life. She had deluded herself into the belief that she was the only focus he needed, and that through her he would be able to find relief, meaning, life. It had not been so. And once more, she awakens from her dream into nightmare.
____
5 Minute story for the Sinn*y* (mwhahah); challenge accepted, and delievered, and now posted here as well.
* * * * *
Dream.
For the heart holds fast to the reality we perceive,
But the mind knows that we weave our own realities.
Dream.
To dream is to weave upon the empty page
A reality scored by the heart of the pain of the pleasure of the texture of the reality
of life.
Who among you can say the dream has less weight then the reality it encompasses,
Echos!
Who among you can say that the reality you perceive had more weight then the dream it weaves.
Who among you dreams that the reality you behold was the dream that you cradle when no light bears burden upon your sullen features.
Sullen, the night, enriched the dream, enchanted the soul.
Dream.
____
Another 5 Minute poem from that thread.
VIEW 9 of 9 COMMENTS
[Edited on Feb 12, 2004 9:33AM]