The twisted features of
Death
Swirl and change
Splitting apartUntil three beasts stood
The first had the figure of a man
With eight arms
each holding a myriad of small
Delicate talismans
Smiling
It turnsArms to wings
Skin to feathers
Shrinking
A burst of white
A feather and coo
A dove flies
And disappears into the darknessThe next creature stood
Like an ox
Six wings
And seven eyes
Which opened like doors
And through them:
LifeHorns trumpeted
Voices sang
And the beast was goneThe final one stood
Hooded
Shrouded in black
Melding with the surrounding voidIt opened its maw
And insideNothing
YOU ARE READING
The Dream
PoetryThis is a longer poem that I wrote a long time ago based on a recurring dream I was having.