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The Field of Glass

Poetry By: Byron Quinn
Poetry



A poem of a reoccurring nightmare. Can you ever escape the past, even in your dreams


Submitted:Jan 22, 2007    Reads: 128    Comments: 0    Likes: 0   


THE FIELD OF GLASS

I wake amongst the field of glass
Brilliant shards of shimmering mass
Light refracting in my eyes
What is this place?
Who created it?
What's its purpose?

This a place that dreams are made of
Colours dancing in the subtle breeze
Brushing past through the leaves of glass
Reverberating a haunting tone of change

I approach to touch the beauty of the broken shards that surround me
I reach out a hand
Stroke
Prick
Bleed

A drop of blood falls to the floor
Terror fills my mind
Surely this can not be
Not here
Not in such a land of beauty

I look above and like so many times before the skies darken above
The blue turns grey as clouds roll in
The once subtle breeze now a wailing gale
The tone of change now one of haunting screams

With a crack of thunder this beautiful land of dreams
Completes its journey to the realm of nightmares
As like rain
Bodies fall out from the skies above
Crashing down to the shimmering shards
The shards of death

Bodies become impaled as screams of the fallen fill the air
The sound track of the dying now complete
I watch in horror as the once bouncing colours are gone forever
Replaced only by the curse of crimson red

The blood flows like rivers
Through this broken landscape of death
With despair I gaze at the carcasses of my past
My hands forever stained with their blood
Will I ever find the redemption I seek?
Will I never be forgiven for my sin?





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