dream (returning hand in hand).

Black feathers as I dreamed,
do not look at me; ebony moon
the lust of the body of the shore,
as nightmares, in what I’ve never
known at all, reflect the Artemis moon;
the fat, yellow moon; it’s a blood-hunt
to the red-hills,
and a sea,
cocktails of sweat
death at the ground.

There is beauty in the death of things
in imminent dreaming,
for it’s like death itself;

white fingers shutting
they shiver
to the cosmic
in between
veteran of psychosis
and leaves among the red
each one among the red
each one red; sands topple,
to astronomic bone
of his stardust.

© 2020 lucysworks.com All Rights Reserved.

First appeared on Free Verse Revolution.

25 thoughts on “dream (returning hand in hand).”

  1. This poem has an Autumnal flavor to it.

    It makes me understand the things that are so deep to us, whether they be memories in our nighttime dreams, or the raindrops from highest clouds, or the dust of a few grains of pollen. They are like each thing dead. Death is a thing buried deep in a subconscious memory. We respond to death with a flood. We respond to it, with a shedding of our skin, just like the flower’s pollen.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh, that is so true. Death is our very essence beside creation. It is scary, but it’s just as natural. Thank you for your thoughts and analysis, always. I really appreciate it.

      Liked by 2 people

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