Rested head on the brim of sleep,

My sleep seldom becomes my own.

It’s rather a soaring urge,

Which compels me to break into dreams.

Setting this wild horse free,

As it gallops through my imagination.

For in this freedom of wild dreams,

Within it I feel as one.

And it is in this that your sweetest tears and lonely fears,

Are stretched by one’s subconscious.

One moment in thrilling heights,

The next surrounded by phantoms.

And I wake up, out of the nightmare,

Rather into a real one.

This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

9 Responses to Nightmare

  1. miffalicious says:

    Something that I can strongly relate to.

  2. Jillien says:

    I really enjoyed reading this. I’m not a very vivid dreamer when I sleep, but I know others who are and listening to them share what the realms that their subconscious forces upon them in sleep is remarkable. You should journal them, if you don’t already.

    • jagring says:

      Now, that sounds like an amazing idea. I have previously jotted down some dreams which I didn’t want to forget, but it was as close to never. But maintaining a journal for dreams just flooded me. Thanks..!!

  3. pure2core says:

    That’s really superb one..Got time to go through your poetry after a long time.. 😀

    • jagring says:

      I am really sorry for the delay, haven’t had much time lately. And still I fear a few more months of this drought may persevere before I can stretch my fingers with ease..!!

      • pure2core says:

        Oh.. don’t be..relax.. I was talking about me..I was saying about me friend_ I wasn’t free for these long days……Awaiting your poem ..pleasure reading them 🙂 🙂

  4. Andy says:

    Poignant write, especially that ending.
    Thanks for sharing.

    The Painting And The Poet

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