Dreaming my Grave

Image Credits: Holunder @ Deviantart.com
Image Credits: Holunder @ Deviantart.com

The dream was of an Accident…

Tossed over like a rag-doll.

Numb to screams and flashes.

 

The seeping red blood called

Out to a home left far behind.

Shades of blue flushed the skin,

The beating nucleus basking in

its imminent convulsing climax.

 

Resisted the stifling warm embrace,

Screaming out noiselessly.

Begging to be let go.

They did not listen.

They never do.

 

Mere seconds for the curtain call.

Breathing in the last strains

Of untainted hastening life.

The slowly freezing core clung to

the cold kisses of sharp steel.

 

A burning throat implored for the

knight in his shining armour,

Only to realize,

My hands held the scythe

piercing my soul mercilessly.

 

I woke up falling into an abyss.

The dream was of an Accident.

And I wondered if it was true.


A poetry of a time when the unconscious mind is digging its own grave. A wake up call to reality and the lost innocence of childhood – to get myself together and heal to live.

Written for:  Photo Challenge over at mindlovemisery’s menagerie 

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27 thoughts on “Dreaming my Grave

  1. This photo prompt really did evoke such dark imagery, didn’t it? Your words, “They did not listen. They never do” alluded to such a chilling repetition of horror. Well-written!!

    Like

  2. Dreams are said to have more meaning than we can digest.
    Self interpretation is always best – they say- since only you really know yourself.
    I never bide by those who say ‘I know you better than you know yourself.’

    Heal, heal, heal.

    Thanks for visiting my reflective piece.

    Like

  3. It was a beautiful read, Prajakta. I loved the way you started by giving a sensation of helplessness as the blood seeped farther from the body, and then slowly took to the point of self-realization giving a ray of hope, that there is still time. The last line gave me goosebumps and left me speechless ! “And I wondered if it was true”. We die every day and our soul is pierced every moment we waste without truly living (with love and compassion).
    Thank you so much for sharing, it was a treat to the eyes 🙂

    Like

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