The twisted features of
Death
Swirl and change
Splitting apart
Until three beasts stood
The first had the figure of a man
With eight arms
each holding a myriad of small
Delicate talismans
Smiling
It turns
Arms to wings
Skin to feathers
Shrinking
A burst of white
A feather and coo
A dove flies
And disappears into the darkness
The next creature stood
Like an ox
Six wings
And seven eyes
Which opened like doors
And through them:
Life
Horns trumpeted
Voices sang
And the beast was gone
The final one stood
Hooded
Shrouded in black
Melding with the surrounding void
It opened its maw
And inside
Nothing
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.
