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by AP
Rated: E · Poetry · Thriller/Suspense · #2177733
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A MIDNIGHT DREAM


My clock reads twelve, thirty seconds past,
Of the room around me, a glance I cast

With a yawn I rise, from my four post bed,
Knowing really not of what had led,

For me to stir, from my slumber deep,
I simply get up, and take to the window for a peep,

And out is the beautiful night,
The full moon in all its glory shining bright,

Oh, what a sight!
Of such alluring moonlight,

Casting shadows dark of the woods behind,
The manor, and all things beyond the fathoms of my mind,

But one thing jumps out at me,
From the shadows, straggling towards the tree,


That stands slightly away from the edge of the wood,
I stand transfixed, thinking what do I should,

Before thought dictates my way,
Something else takes over, deemed to lead me astray,

Quickly and softly down the steps my body went,
Against my reason and intellect, I couldn't relent,

Through the back I hurry, following the figure in the pale light,
Knowing not why, I stalk him in the night,

As he straggles towards the tree,
From a distance I can see,

A grave dug out under the oak,
Beside which lay young coals yearning for a stoke,



He reaches the grave and collapses onto knees,
My nerves tingle, from the light touch of the cool breeze,

For now, his visage lay in the shadows dark,
By the light glow, I can see symbols etched into the oaken bark,

The figure in front strikes up a soft chant, quick and low,
Still on his knees, seemingly captured in an eternal bow,

In a slow crescendo, his ragged breath is sung,
And I behind the green bushes crouched, seemingly hung,

In time as I look from behind my cover at the gray man's back,
Still I don't know from where did it come, the courage, I so did lack,

Suddenly his chant stops and still on knees, he sucks in gulps of the night's cool breeze,
The he starts loudly in a ragged voice, now a distinct wheeze,

"Oh Thanatos, lord of the dead,
It has been you who has led,

Me, on my path to dreams,
Across hell's seven streams,

Oh Thanatos, lord of the dead,
Accept my offer of wine and bread,

To you I give, what was precious to me, my final sacrifice,
Accept it, take it I hope it'll suffice,"

And then he opens his tattered bag,
And takes out bottles of wine and loaves of bread wrapped in a rag,

And pours the wine and drops the bread into the earthen grave,
I look on, in surprise, and in horror, my heart now no longer so brave,

The man now stands, and I look on,
From the smoke that now rises from the grave, the dark winged angel of death is born,

So unearthly, so divine, his wings Cupid's twin,
He rises and addresses the man, "Well, O bearer o' sin,

Here to, you have called, and here to I have obliged to come,
Now your sacrifice, and quick, unless you want to listen to Tartarus' hellish hum,

The man replies in a wheeze, "Oh lord my sacrifice is all but yours to reap,"
Now I feel a sudden horror like never before, I can feel the chill breeze of cold death seep,

Into every nerve, I possess, and slowly the man towards me turns,
With a hellish grin, and a hellish look in his eyes which burns,

Into me, for they were my brother's eyes,
"A life for a life my brother, and I needed yours dear brother, forgive any and all of my sweet sounding lies,"

"Oh, Thanatos take his life and give me mine,
Let once again, upon my body, the bright Sun of dawn shine,"

And Thanatos looks at me, and smiles a smirk,
And yet, I can't move, can't run, and then can't feel as into my heart is pierced the dirk,

All blacked and I awake from my dream,
Sweating profusely, choking on a scream,

My clock reads twelve, thirty minutes past,
Of the room around me a glance I cast,

A nightmare, a horrible nightmare I tell myself,
And calm down with a sip from the jug on the shelf,

I get up and take to the window, to see,
The straggling man, ready to haunt me, ready spook me,

Instead I see flames curling on the halls of hell,
My midnight dream is real or not, I can no longer tell.
-AP

IN COCCINEO DIBAPHO




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