A Dream of an Early Spring

I've always been interested in dreams. Their meaning, shading, moment of context in our lives, and the brains need to digest and process various bits of our conscious understanding into something we can handle, in a way that we cannot control.

This particular poem is a direct representation of one of the most powerfully personal dreams I have ever had. This dream rocked me to my core, and I woke up with a profound sense of change.

I hope you enjoy reading of it.

A Dream of an Early Spring

This is no lie.
I saw my father fall
down before my eyes and watched,
as the ground swallowed
his clickitey-clackitey loud feet.
The ground swallowed him whole.

The man smelled my skin and laughed.
“You smell like fresh meat,” he said.
“You smell like you expect to be killed
and eaten alive.
What kind of boy would run around this fog like that?”

The men of the earth hungered for my people’s flesh.
If I did not provide them with a sacrifice
to abate their sorrows,
they would take my body
and walk amongst my people
like one of the undead.
They would find ways to sip their lives
into their own empty souls.

I saw the devilish look
in the serpent’s eye
as his spiny tongue wrapped around my body.
My legs felt as if they were being stabbed
with a thousand tiny needles.

I tore myself away
from the life-threatening needles and spines.

I fought blindly
as callow youths do,
a white bird flew by my side
and attached a feather to my bleeding wounds.
They began to heal instantaneously.

The mists cleared away
and the soil grew cold and silent.
In place of the menace that blinded my sight
was a small jade figure of my father,
wearing his leather-bottomed shoes and ring.
So it was there that I put my father’s bones to rest
and took the jade figure in his place.

Without hesitance I lifted my pant legs
began to dance in father’s leather bottomed shoes.
The soles breezed across the floor,
cutting the mist with rhythmic motions.
I then turned the ring on my finger
and watched my father rise,
soil shedding from his skin.
His shaved face and clean hands
stood against the paling crowd.
This impressed the people who stood before me,
as did the fact that my tongue
did not bleed from the needle it held.

My family pressed their hands
on various swells of my body
as they embraced me with joy.

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