A Dream

When the sun broke, the tempest came
To moisten sadness with all its rain,
But when the flame of pain released,
The thunder fell and lust deceased.
There is no cure, there is no hope
To say that what was once is coped
By taking the flesh of bartered kin.
I’ve relinquished the ardent soul within
Mine own body and soul to say
That what was once can be remade.
There is a solemn wish beneath the feet
That I once walked on, that soon retreat
The final blossom of heart-felt guilt.
I was once the flower that bloomed to wilt
On brighter days, where some would say,
“I’ve become what I want today.”
Yet, on the plateau that made me ill,
I sought the vengeance of maintained will
To keep what I had begun to feel:
A powerful clutch that was made real.
I have begun to decompose
Underneath that wilted rose,
The hollow façade that I felt was clear.
As the night falls, the pain draws near,
And I can see, throughout the rain,
That someone is trudging all through the grain.
Beneath the weather, there was a switch,
And someone made the final stitch
To process guilt in its greatest form:
A broken arm and delinquent shore
Of majesty and horrid bleach.
So, to you, I do beseech
That I may grace you with this fright
That haunts me in the dead of night,
Only to become what soon was naught
In the greater depths of what I’ve wrought.