Grave of Dreams

Tiny raindrops on glass

Little hands drawing images

Sighing at the window

Memories of dreams, stolen dreams

Dreaming of lights, of laughter, claps in the audience

Spinning, pink tutus, a perfect port de bras

Long applause, a graceful curtsy

Happy memories gone by dusk when evil roams

Dreams snapped forcibly

Hiding under the bed

Muted sounds, scared, crying for help

Pushing the weight above, a familiar face grinning

Snatching, taking, violating

The world far away, too busy to listen

Or is it asleep?

Everything spinning fast, shadows creeping, walls closing

Then silence, hand gripping a tiny neck – threatening, warning

Heavy steps fading into darkness

Whimpers from the dark corners, regrets

This is the grave of dreams- where dreams are trampled

A tiny soul destroyed, an innocent soul tainted

The pounding rain growing wild

Maybe it will wash away all the iniquities

Maybe it will wash away all the pain, and the shame?



About sensoria300

I harness words, I thrive on them. I tell stories. I am dreamer, sometimes a poet but mostly I am a Game of Thrones fanatic. Lady Olenna, Lyanna Mormont and Arya Stark are my spirit animals.

Posted on June 28, 2013, in Poetic Justice and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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