One night, I woke from my dream,
Frustrated from the idea that something
Had made me awaken to this hell.
It was a figure in a cloak, eyes the
Color of headlights in the night.
They focused in on me, and it reached
A hand out to me to take.
Would I have taken it?
There may have been a time before
Where there was a tempting sensation within
o take hold of the chilling fingers
Of a stranger that surely meant death.
Now, I had a reason to return to life,
As there were people and things that allowed
Even the moments of wakefulness to
Mean something to me.
The figure nodded, pulled its hands away,
And they let me continue my peaceful
Dream that let me forget.
One day I would have to accept its hand
To travel beyond the physicalness
Of my own self, but today was not that day.
I was hoping it wouldn't come for a while more.
YOU ARE READING
The Beginning To The End
PuisiI've never been a poet, that much is certain, but I can tell you that it does get written. A lot. These are the collections of my poetry I've written, and some of them hit hard for me.
