This was written in happier days, when I was involved with someone. The same goes for the next other 6 posts.
Due to the fact that I refuse to give any names and circumstances (so as to avoid revealing identities), combined with my father’s advice to minimise the details I give out in every post’s explanation (to increase the mystery and actually give people reason to comment), I have decided to refer to the elements of the text with greater ambiguity, if at all.
This is going to be difficult.
“The Waking Dream”
Deep within the mountain’s tomb
Lies a sleepless stoic dreamer,
To the stones preaching of doom,
To his mind preaching he’d seen her.
He dwells awake through frozen nights,
Through forests charred and highlands grey,
Through ashes of kings and knights;
He has seen her on her way.
She rides a steed of blinding light,
With gleaming silver locks behind her;
The moon, her kin and stars, her eyes,
Shade before her, whispers after.
Bound by frozen chains of anger,
He awaits her long return;
His putrid heart beseeches her,
His body dies, his essence burns.
She draws near his catacombs,
As thunders roar with primal might.
She’s journeyed so far from her home’s
Golden walls and high domes bright.
On silken wings of purity
She descends to the abyss;
Her grace brings him divinity –
“What waking dream is this?”
Once blinded eyes – now see once more;
The warmth enshrouds his tomb so hollow;
The perfection he has known before,
Now stands in front of the man of sorrow.
With silent cries and tears of joy –
“What cruel waking dream is this?”
With eyes gazing through the void –
“I am here to bring you peace.”
He basks in her glory once again,
As she mends his crumbling bones;
“I am here” – she tells the broken man;
She bears a face, but not her own…