lying in paralysed perfection
feeling the traffic leaving my veins
a blade lies next to my honest wound
drops of red rubies constellate

amber goodbyes on bathroom tiles
my final words are not spoken
just spread with red on white
no need to explain

and in the void I hear
the message so clear:
“wake up it is but a fleeting dream”
and then I rise

crystal clarity dawns so wearily
as I realize my mistake
I was not the one on the floor
and I did not look in the mirror

who were the I in that dream
that soul among the ruby constellation
certainly not me
I fear the answer of this morbid divination

because in the void I heard
a message so clear:
“wake up it is a fleeting dream
you don’t belong here….”

(c) 2015 allen simpson
In line 4 I play with the word ‘constellation’ by saying ‘constellate’ (using it as a verb) meaning ‘a constelation is forming or about to be formed’. It is an old poet’s trick I love to use 🙂

I heard bad news yesterday and poetry is the best way to process bad news for me. And before you wonder, the bad news I heard has not bearing on the tale in my poem. It is quite different.

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