NaPoWriMo asks for a surreal poem using dream imagery. Sounds like most nights to me.
Wading through treacle
is the only way to get through this darkness.
a half-seen tree or someone waving
and the dog turns to me and says, run.
Can’t run, doesn’t he know?
This is dreamland and…
among the red dancing peonies of fire are…
and we’re in a house that is home
that might be home
that I’d like to be home (no dog)
and you say (you?)
I can’t hear, or I forget.
Veils of pale fabric shift and blow in the breeze
a door opens (don’t go out, don’t leave)
a garden spreads where quilts pile in drifts of coloured feathers.
I smell lilac flowers, smell happiness grow. Happiness…
but they’re coming (where are you?)
from the peony flames
they always do in the end
just as you are never here
and the smell is of carrion (lilacs, please, don’t go)
and blood clings to my hands (did I do that?) sticky and indelible
and breath comes short
because it’s hard to run (alone. There was a dog once) in treacle.
The light recedes and I (alone)
feel heat lapping
Screams fade into a distance
that no waking will ever shrink.