It seems the sandman is indecisive,
Jumping rope from land of Nod to actuality,
A haze of drowsy powdered heavy lids.
The familiar tenor of my name being called,
Scrunched eyebrows exposed confusion,
Breathing was scorned, denied entrance.
Was this what was dubbed rigor mortis?
Was my consciousness dragged to the underworld?
Was I damned to a state of limbo?
My very heartbeat hammered in my throat,
Against my will, my eyelids pried themselves open
And I was greeted by a demon on my chest.
Damned to hell I lamented.
Bottomless eyes stole my soul.
Its jaw unhinged as did mine.
My screams were consumed,
But thankfully I was jerked awake.
It seemed the sandman had a sense of humour,
Pulling legs.
YOU ARE READING
Raindrops
PoetryThis is a collection of poetry that contains themes and topics loosely related to one another; some light-hearted and some heavier in nature. But be certain that you will find at least one of them that will resonate with you.
