A Fear Drifts Through a Dream
Most people have dreams, some are even fearful to sleep for fear of nightmares. My dreams are just little off-beat dramas I share with my wife over breakfast. At times she asks what the dream meant and more often than not I can figure out a reasonable explanation.
Rest Stop is a narrative poem that walks the fine line between dream and reality.
Rest Stop
I was parked at a rest stop
in the middle of nowhere
tired and fatigued.
A horizon of distant grey trees
divided a corn stubble field
from a crystal clear sky.
What resembled a school
of small fish darted through
the blue in beautiful ballet,
a syncopated harmony
of freedom and movement.
I opened my window
felt a cold rush of air,
a chill on my neck
that went down my spine.
Ominous shadows,
torpedo in shape, crossed
through my vision
and into the dance.
They swam in wide circles
corralling the swarm
of small dancers into a tight
fisted ball. Then they slashed
through the middle
flashing and ripping.
One of their shadows rolled
over the hood of my car.
I could feel its weight
like a foreboding fear
and fled to the highway.
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