Rooted under eyelids
lost images of pursuit
fled through bedded gardens
where smiling sycophants fawned a preacher
who locked the gate behind me.
Deadly and benign.
Waiting for a sign
and looked toward his god.
Undignified and holy.
He slammed me down.
My face became a radish.
Its roots sought water through the dirt.
Brenda Warren 2020
And for this you became a Buddhist.
Used to have repetitive nightmares as a child and some remained into adulthood. Finally learned how to work with the dream material and they don’t occur anymore. Your details are haunting Brenda, but make for a great poem…
Great imagery, Brenda.
Excellent job of describing the horror possible in a dream. Your images are so good!
Sounds like a surreal nightmare! Intriguing visuals.