Dreams

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Dreams

Silence.

The silence of dreams.

Dreams of fire and brimstone.

And falling,

falling towards oblivion.

Dreaming of,

Nothingness.

I grasp at straws of salvation.

The dreams comfort me,

day in and day out.

Don't you see?

It's the only thing that cares;

The only thing that seems to want me.



Dreaming.

Dreaming of others like me.

Oh! How they cling to their precious life!

But the monster comes out of the fire,

ripping the flesh of those who refuse.

Their meek little minds failed to comprehend it all.

They failed to see the simplicity and logic.

But I saw.

For I soon realized,

that this place of decaying souls,

of demons of the night,

and of lakes of fire and flesh,

is the end of the dream,

and the beginning of,

Reality.



By: Roy Quebedeaux

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Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

royq’s Poems (20)

Title Comments
Title Comments
Trippin' 2
The Story of Us 2
The Elements of My Heart 0
Wake Up 1
Kissing You 0
Crazy 0
Never Asked 1
I Was Afraid 0
House of Mirrors 1
Sh*t Outta Luck 4
Twisted 0
Garden of the Gods -3
Don't Fear The Reaper 0
No One Here 0
F*cked Up 1
Dreams 0
roy. 0
? 0
.45 0
Dear Dad. . . . 2