drowning in dreams

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Religion and Spirituality  |  House: Booksie Classic


his dreams one night...

Submitted: June 05, 2018

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Submitted: June 05, 2018

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Drowning in Dreams

©Thomas Van Horn 2017

 

The moment I close my eyes

and my day fades

I dream.

Sweet covers of sleep.

Bed weight and warmth

blanket earth

green of thought

it deepens.

Three of us run

ducking in dark maroons

yellow skies high in motion

my bare feet graceful in grasses

flying firm on the earth.

Moist and cool and fleeting,

Brownish black wash in purples.

Mary,

such a young beauty,

holds some mystery up for me to see.

Summer dress lifts with her coy shrug.

I notice the waterfall behind her.

Gone again, though.

It’s dark between the dreams.

Cream Boat, my cat,

paws in the laundry basket.

Dark room to dream,

a falling.

From the out in.

And deep.

Like waters over me.

Heavy.

Light of the sunny day

on soft leaves that brush me

as I pass through the scrub

between the trees,

tall with their limbs up top.

How far to mom’s?

It’s my brother with me.

I’m troubled,

I can’t remember his name.

Nor do I have an answer.

I just know mom will be there.

 

In sinc,

these wheels driven by gears.

I dog paddle just above the grind,

trying to stay afloat,

neck arced back gasping.

This one,

I can tell he’s something special, says,

Come in.

I want to show you something.

Brown black.

Rain fills it all in.

I feel my blankets like rolling hills,

a night time landscape.

I am the earth beneath it.

Warm.

Ruled by gravity.

Purple green.

I watch a car driving on the road

down in the valley

Yellow white lights.

I’m driving.

This lady with me,

her dog in the back.

They’re both so happy

it makes me wonder how they do it.

The ugly freak

jumps on my soldier’s back,

wraps his legs around divine’s body,

with a huge knife

he slices off the head,

and holds it up like a drunken lunitic,

tongue flapping in his scream.

Popped.

The bleeding prize.

I trust.

I aim.

I squeeze.

Let it fly.

Rifle kick.

Lunitic head explodes into a pink mist.

Dead, he drops the head of a good man.

The sound never gets there.

I’m that far away.

That bullet’s divinely sanctioned path.

Fear the lord, you worm.

God will disseminate your atoms.

Your life will divide into that many pieces.

The Cream.

My cat.

Fluid.

Maniac.

Up at night.

I’m zipping.

High up.

Thank God for beer.

Black crap

get me to the next dream.

Water boarded with beer,

Gagging.

Must be my limit.

I laugh out loud

and it wakes me up,

grinning.

There’s Cream Boat on my chest.

Awake,

looking at my face

while I splash around in my dreams.

I gotta pee.

Cream Boat hop down.

Out the window the hooting.

I love that bird,

a spook, like company in the night.

A pee and a drink of water and I’m back to bed.

Sleep falls open in less than a moment.

Warm even breathing, slipping in.

I remember I was dreaming something troubled.

Bullits at bandits.

Exploding evil

so it becomes nourishing dirt.

God grows

from Satan’s shenanigans.

He’s what you do to get to me.

I’ve heard that before,

it was in my head.

Not church.

When I go my spirit will stay with you.

This one.

In my dreams.

Peaceless freaking wind

pushing so hard I’m pissed.

Bully so big.

Green wet flipping in my face,

my shoes like puddles squishing,

mud in my mouth.

Cream Boat crying.

Children, in panic, run,

The grass grabbing their feet.

Helpless.

Screaming.

Children.

Lost the reality where they lived.

I can’t help.

I can’t help.

Falling through their plane of existence,

me on my own trajectory.

I witness.

But I’m not there.

It’s gone.

It’s all black.

Then creamy dreams in waters of colors.

Like another room,

the painters aren’t done yet.

The brushes fly their own course.

The painters.

Yeah,

Some coffee?

Gotta smoke?

Gotta smoke?

Falling down this spiraling corridor,

luckily I can fly

or this would hurt like hell.

This one,

in a very serious demise.

This one.

His blood.

I’ve heard that , too.

In my head.

This one.

The wood is so hard.

The rope is so burn.

His face is my own.

Oh the grief.

Oh the relief,

it’s night,

it’s quiet,

except for that hooter

and cream boat purring.

He loves to cuddle the hill.

He eats hot living blood

and sleeps with me.

Savage cream boat.

Pretty kitty’s deceit.

It’s his living.

I love the night,

in my room,

in my bed,

in my heavy hillside.

My Blankets,

the dirt on the earth.

The dragon purrs.

The peace.

The peace.

The cool.

The cream.

The dream.

Soft pajama pillow

Tucked feet safe.

This one. Such a smile. Semi tall.

He points with his finger and his eyes.

Grinning like this is the works.

He says, “Look!”

Tsumani splash. Inky.

I’m in between again.

Good place to rest between dream stress.

Black. No place to be.

Nothing to see.

In between the dreams.

Outer space of mind.

He’s joyous. I’m dying.

The wind is tearing my skin off.

That’s worse than naked.

God, why is that so funny to me?

This one. Suddenly in my eye.

“Tell me you’re not sinking.”

I knew it. It ends there. Night dark.

Maybe a star that bursts into the next dream.

Which is a flight.

I fling.

Struggling for control.

Crash risk

Yet I see no ground coming.

Perhaps I am flying. Don’t know.

It wakes me up.

One leg is over the edge of the bed.

Sticking out of the blanket like some apendage.

No wonder Cream Boat isn’t here.

Retuck. My open eyes see a silouette scene.

Lump of laundry not in the basket. Lamp unlit.

A mirror as dark as the room.

To warm.

Snug down.

Sink in.

Let go. No decision needed.

Freedom in sleep.

But then I dream.

This one.

His arms stretched all the way that’s allowed.

This one.

The grimace. Crying agony.

Lifted gaze.

Forgiving them.

That what you wanted me to see?

He speaks not.

I can’t believe this.

The horror flattens me.

I’m limp like a rag

I can’t even reach up a hand.

Can’t plead for mercy.

This one is here.

Lifting my hand

Wait a minute!

Wait a minute!

Dude’s dead man.

He was sagging beyond strengthless.

Dead.

Dead has a look.

This one was dead.

And here he is lifting my hand.

So I can plead for mercy.

Foregiveness for my ways.

This one.

Oh God. Oh God.

The purple is rich like religion.

Deep and smooth. Sexy.

But no. It’s light.

Radiates.

Oh God.

The vision.

Thank you.

A meow.

I know it.

It’s at the door.

Creamboat’s such an ass.

Won’t go when he’s supposed to

Must go when he’s not.

I swing out and stand up, pulling a blanket with me

And wrap it, head hood and all and go to Cream Boat.

He dashes out the opened door.

And the stars.

Oh God again.

This one waving.

The stars.

In jammies and blanket, I step out.

Dark night full of light.

Still, except for cream boat scratching in the rock garden.

How far those stars

Multiple milenniums

Their light to get here

For me to see.

Gigantic to the total and complete extreme

Forever stars, but not.

I know that, even in my dreams.

Black yet really blue.

Some of these stars are galaxies

With places unknown to us

Me and cream boat know not

The worlds around those stars

In those galaxies

In that universe.

Why do I feel divine glory

Well, look up.

Look around.

This one.

Come on cream boat.

I want to get back

He prances to the door and asks to be let in

Like I don’t have a clue.

I traverse the dark house knowing the path

To bed

To hillside blankets

To cream boat comfort.

And me

Comfort

Once warm the drift begins

Thank you, Father

For the trips

I sink

A man, I know him as Joseph.

Huge hands. Charcoal black. Gentle.

Give me the number, he says.

Give me your eye, and I’ll give you the number.

He does. I do.

But darkness enters in, dominates, becomes what is

In between dreams.

Black, but purple. But green.

But deep.

Earth forest.

Life dripping

Like the universe

Alive with life

I know this too in my dreams

This one

That’s where he’s pointing.

Love this

A greasy black tooth walks by

Love him

Jack boot machine march

Love them

Each individual

Love him

My God.

It’s like a bright yellow

A gold

Rubbed with rags

I see them, they’re angels

In between,

Shooshing in black snow to the next hill.

The next dream. Angels.

How do I know

I don’t

Could be a deciet

I lay down.

Stand still I’ve learned

Black water warm flows over me

Mama Mary likes my jokes

And Joseph old

Their laughing spurs me on and I get funnier.

And that’s as good as blankets in a cold dark room.

With cream boat sailing on hillsides on human curves

Green waters. Moonlight revealing waves

The wind is the boss

Dictating my course.

My course. My cup.

Skipping along the earth

Braving the tides

Pouring it out just to fill it up.

Come in she says.

Where’s this one

Come in

I want to show you something

Antisipating that I close the door behind me

Latch click echoes

Drapes of tapestries

All the lives that have lived

The air in the room fragrant

All the lives yet to come.

Feeling for it

Stumbling in the dark

With a light to guide

sometimes clouds obscure.

Sometimes rains wet

Making things slick

Making drippy dirt

Mud pie hands

Practicing mommy

Grown up potentials

So show me

She melts into the tapestries

She is not this one

But of him

Her air weaves into beautiful art

Her clouds a sky full

A dance green licks at the base of blue

Earth lays under sky

Endeavors to rise and fly

The blackness between the dreams

defines existance,

it’s the background to light.

Mighty.

The two.

Everything there is.

Racing along the witnessing,

passed so fast.

I’m beyond it.

Under siege

by what’s below.

Like gravity

to my flight,

flailing fall.

The bottom.

A distinct possibility.

Below the dream.

Between.

Cream boat,

spunk waters.

Yard lay.

Mice hiding.

Spider creep.

Bug eat.

Making eggs.

Broken.

Pudding legs.

Finger nail shells.

Green like glory.

Missing.

Children barking orders.

Multitudes insisting.

Skillet sizzle.

Fustrating sanactions.

Quicksand bottoms.

Slimey death fear.

And darker still.

Never land.

Thin air.

Breathless pillows.

Panicy trek.

Approaching crucifiction.

Nailed up,

this one.

His blood.

His smile,

upside down.

Sagging suffocation.

Is that what

you wanted to show me?

All’s dark,

no answer.

Eyes of a dead one.

Tomb of resurection.

Waiting for that moment.

While I fall.

While I fall.

Oh God.

Cream boat sailing

on morbid hills.

It’s me.

Red streaked life.

Heavy running,

the three of us.

Falling waters.

Grining faces splashing,

impervious to destruction

because of joy.

I live.

He dies.

I die.

He lives.
Why can’t we get together?

Perhaps this hole,

this dark,

this falling.

But I can fly.

I remember that

even in my dreams.

He lifts my hand,

his wind my wings.

My pain by his hanging,

the pain to see him hang.

Agony winds.

Blood in the rain.

Mommy children crying.

Grey blue green red,

a wash.

Art of my love.

I feel a lift,

possibly a joy.

Possibly no hole at all.

Blanket lift.

Look at this.

This one points,

looks at me

like love.

What’s that?

Everything.

Is that what you wanted to show me?

Yes with a father’s smile.

Oh yes, golden green.

Check the all,

the design.

A breeze brings the black this time.

Why am I crying?

I can’t decide if I’m awake or asleep.

Cream boat’s here.

Are you still with me?

I am.

But I’m flinging,

flailing,

falling.

Tell me you’re not sinking.

Whose hand holds you?

Exhaustion of the struggle

even in my dreams.

Blue so rich

gradates away

to light,

like yellow.

Loops,

joyous loops

of acrobatic flight

In my jammies.

Sun light beauty.

No ground at all.

Free to fly.

No crash potentials.

Darkless clouds.

My glory grin

wider from the wind.

Oh God,

this one.

He points with his whole life,

on the earth and otherwise.

His life points,

Freedom, freedom, freedom.

You won’t find it in the dirt.

It’s in the wind.

This one.

Happy hand in hand,

right here.

Tell me youre not sinking.

Blackness,

as a fear reflex,

careening through the atmosphere.

No light night.

too black to see.

I’m flying,

yes blindly,

but that’s not sinking.

There you go man.

Be as cool as you can.

Moody Blues,

I love you guys.

Even in my dreams.

This one holds up my hand.

Come on,

I want to show you something.

His arm swings the  panorama,

his eye leads me to it.

All lays before us,

and that’s where we’re going.

We’re already there.

This one.

Everything fits together,

just look at atoms,

perfect order of supposed chaos.

It’s all the vibration of the living light.

This one’s smile,

loving love,

mind to mind,

heart anchor.

A blackness wash intrudes,

but disipates

into sparkling stars.

Milennium of colors,

altogether defining light.

My eyes open

to a silver grey room.

Purples, too.

A pink yellow

splashes in slow motion.

Cream boat’s cue

for morning milk.

He says so.

Ah, the morning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


© Copyright 2018 Thomas Van Horn. All rights reserved.

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