And once the light
So glimmering and fragile
Went out in our home and our hearts,
The creatures of the night began to speak
To whisper and to scream
Of good and bad and everything in between.
Their lullabies did
Not make us feel at ease,
The stories of grave mistakes and broken dreams
Reminded us of our own.
Escaping in the world of sleep
With weary eyes and bitter tasting lies
Of 'tomorrow it'll be better' under our tongues,
The dreams we dreamt were not made out of cotton candy.
They were not pink and pale and soft,
There were no rosy clouds we could fall back on,
No hugs and kisses telling us it'll be alright,
That (although the horror might persist) it'll vanish with the dawn of day.
Instead we did not dream.
Dreaming is something meant for the ones
Comfortable in their skin
Who can let go and allow their subconciousness to take over.
We do not lead such lives.
Trapped in the fear of making
One wrong step,
We crouch and
Hold our hands against the ground,
Our knees bloody from singing
Anthems to the wrong gods
To the wrong god
To the one towering over us with a
Booming voice and crusted, dirty fingernails.
(Was it blood or ashes?
We didn't have the right to lift our head to look at them so I can only guess)
I don't remember what happens in the night
Or in the land of dreams.
By the morning everything is gone
And the candle's flickering again
And we can't do anything but wonder
If the creatures were real
Or just the shadows on the wall
(There are always two sides to a story,
I guess this is the second side of hope.
You get the benefit of doubt if everything was real to begin with
But