Popular Poems About Nightmares

I was being held a prisoner
Not sure where, but I couldn't escape
The shadow was tormenting me, telling me I was going to die
There was no apparent motive or reasoning behind this statement
I saw a knife
It looked more like a blade
A blade you would see in those machine shops, cutting lumber
My hands and legs were chained
Someone stood behind me holding my head back
This person kept whispering, "You are going to die, You are going to die"
I began to tear up thinking, "What can I possibly do to get out of this dilemma...

My last breakdown....
...was my birthday 2023.
My father would have been 86.
I turned 49.  I knew him less
than 6 months of my adult life.

My mother had kept us apart...
told each of us the other was dead...
this was before the Internet boomed.
Before we all had cell phones. All those lost years. Then he died. We shared a birthday.

We never got to share that birthday together. So, every year since '97 that day has haunted me. It was nothing special as a child...no presents...no cake!   It COULD HAVE BEEN so special if Dad had...

To: Anybody

Once there was an girl that was named Samara. And she had a father who didn't care about her. So one day her mom who loves her drowned her in the dark well. And then there was a girl that was not Samara. And she had a boyfriend, basically.  They watched this movie; got a call. The call said, " you will die in 7 days".
And the girl fell into the well, and was never to be seen again. Same as the boy. The end.


From, somebody.

Ignorance wandered
lost in the vast unknown.
Faith stood firm
as a beacon in the night.

They met by chance,
two souls adrift.
In the space between
no doubt and disbelief.

Ignorance questioned,
seeking answers,
Faith offered solace,
a gentle embrace.

Together they danced,
in the twilight
of misunderstanding.
Finding beauty
in their conveniences.

In their union,
an acrimony emerged.
A void that transcended
their indifferences.

A three legged dog with brown curly fur waited in the alleyway.
     The dog’s name was Stumpy.
The rain and ice had cracked the concrete. Years of waste had washed through. It was slimy and grey.
A boy of seventeen, ragged, hungry, and pale, was rummaging around a dumpster.
Stumpy barked.
A man dressed in beige grabbed hold of the Dumpster Boy and pulled him out. It was the manager of the Magnificent Burger House. He was sweaty and salty and his moustache covered his mouth.  
     “What are you doing in my Dumpster?”
The boy had hold of a bag of mouldy...