The dream

The dream in staggered haunting
reveals the image set,
repeats the message yet again,
of something lost … but what?

It comes to taunt and teach me
of memory now tossed;
of time tied to forgetting
a pain of ancient cost.

Remembering is tangled
and broken through the nights,
of something which has happened,
yet hides in shadowed fright.

This loss is ever lingering,
a trailing through the years
of something dark and awful,
in shroud of unshed tears.

It’s lost, it has no presence
in real words, or thought or form
and yet it wraps my world of dreams
in torn, tormented cause.


About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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