Nightmare
A creased brow, adorned with liquid jewels.
Serpents rise up, unbeknowest to the dreamer,
Entwining hands and feet alike.
Trapped,
He writhes.
Struggling, to be free.
But escape he cannot.
Not from this, not yet.
His worst fears,
No longer harmless thoughts,
Become as corporeal as you or I.
He must flee.
For running is his only chance.
And then somewhere,
The rooster calls,
And the monsters succumb to the rising sun.
YOU ARE READING
Poems of the Night
PoetryA collection of poems about faries and other such things usually written when i've been unable to sleep.
