deepundergroundpoetry.com

That One Dream

A Recurring Tale

My eyes open,
to a stadium of the world.
Where the cloaked figure
before me lurks.

Competing humans and demons,
convulsing into the dust.
Turning to heaps of ashes,
by the Scythe they're forced to touch.

My heart hammering,
I try to run towards an exit.
Trapped within my mind,
the circumstances are not
to my benefit.

Hands they pull at me,
they keep me from running.
As my Cloaked Master,
slowly keeps approaching.

"LET ME GO!!"
I scream as they snicker.
"This is no place for the weak'
they say with a dread
that makes me shiver.

As I run, the room rotates.
I've been running toward the entrance.
I've rushed right into the Master,
with the shadow of a face that
freezes me with one glance.

Wordlessly, the urge to touch
keeps increasing.
The Scythe is glows and throbs.
searching for the one it finds appeasing.

My hand reaches out,
to the find the warmth of his Scythe.
My Master, I can't see,
but I feel him smile.

With a nod,
the Scythe glues itself to me.
My Master disappears to ashes.
The on-lookers begin to
despise me.
I back away.
The cloak, to my steps,
it dances.

Sprinting to my escape,
the cloak and scythe never letting me go.
The masses now making way
for someone important that
I don't know.

Some stare with hatred.
Some with respect,
Their faces now changing
contorting,
into mutant-like hideous insects.

With the fear threatening
to devour my being.
I break through the barrier.
My eyes then open to my room.
and inaudible voices greeting me,
as their new spawned Superior.