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.




Categories: Poetry, Prose

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

23 replies

  1. Death, the long dream…

    Thank you.

    Liked by 4 people

  2. love the description. Beautiful and haunting!

    Liked by 3 people

  3. Ah, Lucy this is a world of beauty in itself.
    xoxoxo..

    Liked by 1 person

  4. “There is beauty in the death of things
    in imminent dreaming,
    for it’s like death itself;”
    Amazing writing, Lucy, so full of haunting imagery!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Woah this is beautiful writing.

    Liked by 2 people

  6. 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

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