Crying Out Loud

The dead wait here
Like a buried war
In sleep I've heard
Dreams can raise
Death from its grave
Those who dream it
Release little episodes
Assaulted by the attack
That takes offense
In the far recess of darkness
One can hear their own scream
Giving horror its chance to be sick
Things rub up against you
Like they are meant to be there
Leaving a running desire
Death is thrilled with its endless spirit
Floating into the abyss
Of dark caverns with no escape
The skies filled with stars turn into bombs
Spraying bright colors into the circus earth
These things pour out in the night
Deeper in depth than anything
There is absolutely nothing to take you
Where you don't want to go
Then sleep and its haunting dreams
The invasion spins like a separate brain
You become life
You become everything lifeless
Colors emerge
Apparently without great difficulty
Gigantic features, the debris of the dead
Dusty as they come and go
Turning into light and fading into darkness
Evil is created
And out of creation comes evil
Sometimes human shapes of variation
In ghost form
Sometimes deep connections
To an existence you don't want to know
Sometimes the fear hostile
Is as real as though you lived it
Somewhere, some other time
Perhaps you did
If you recall anything about the dream
When you wake screaming
You are thankful
That you died

Learn more about this author, Nancy Browne.
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