I had an Armageddon dream. The terrible
explosion nearby sent its heat-maddened shrapnel
scudding from a cloud like a decorative bottle.
City center transformed into a great candle.
Then the mind’s innate drive toward its own survival
shifted the dream’s setting into a new panel.
In this segment, I was recording the prior
end-of-days scenario into my journal.
This dreamself explored the symbology of fire
in futures untouched by the Ragnarok fractal.
In the later dream, I told you of the terror
we felt standing in the hot hail of the world’s fall,
now passed into the safe angst of a dream’s prior
dream; but your face fell, and fell away, the final
bell of the morning’s first alarm. I want to call
life a blessing, shadows and all. But today, you’ll
please treat me to your soft voice and a tender smile.
|Truth is, I'm not sure about this poem, but I so love the drawing by Heather Wilcoxon.|