It Was a Dream

It was a dream: a sleeping aperitif,
disquieting and striking and extreme,
behavior bound to carry heavy grief –
it was a dream.

It had a sudden murder for a theme:
me perpetrating death as its motif –
the horror unaccompanied by scream.

I couldn’t take my action back! As thief
of life I felt regret and anguish teem.
I woke up then, and flooded with relief
it was a dream.


This entry was posted in Cognition, Personality, Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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