One fair summer day, we all gathered around
and chose to visit an ancient colosseum of modern sports
in order to prevent ourselves from becoming bored to death
as well as doing foolish things to pass the time
I look around, waiting ever so patiently
for the festivites to commence, when suddenly
the clouds begin to distort themselves, as if an invisible hand
wishes to show me something vital
A gasp escapes from me as I witness three images erupt into my sight,
a triad of surpisingly colorful images, impossible in reality
only capable of arranging themseslves in this other plane
where the strangest things always seem to occur...
First, I see a massive gray and black sphere
that zooms across the sky, fading away too quickly
to allow me time to ponder what it means
then the next vision pops up without warning
This time, I see a small jet plane taking off
rapidly veering into the opposite direction, almost as if...
as if it's trying to get away from here, as if...
something deadly dangerous is about to occur
At last, the third scene plays before me, a trio
of modern trumpeters, who gaze right at me as they breathe life
into their horns, which emit an unexpected sound,
the sound of wailing sirens
I can only stand amongst my family and friends
as the screeching noise steadily increases in power
if only I pieced together the images' meanings...only then
would I have been prepared for what happened next
A tremendous explosion shakes my world as just beyond
the colosseum comes forth a monstrous plume of black ash and dust
that reaches far into the sky as an unearthly chorus of screaming
fills my ears, coming from everyone around me, as well as myself
All of us turn tail and flee away from the scene, panting from running
as we reach the hospital, where many horrors instantly greet us
several images of corpses are strewn over screens everywhere
and then we learn of the causalty number...1000 total
Finally, I realize all too late that the triad of visions
I had recieved were not for my pleasure or random at all
they were a warning that I could have passed on, could have used
to prevent this tragedy from happening...
Why, oh why must these terrors blot the innocent canvas of our world?
Why, oh why must mankind willingly turn the pure white...
...into a hideous, crimson RED?
YOU ARE READING
Poetry of Dreams
PoetryA dream is a powerful and spiritual thing to experience, and a poem is a creative way to express your emotions. What would happen if these two concepts were combined?
