imagine surrender

     as white as truce

     as white as truth

from the attic

I pull down the stars

for you

     like fireflies in a jar of night

darkness dissolves our scars

suffocates our segregation

manipulates the distance

between us

as it salts the sheets

of our waiting bed

& we become the unstill

a blue crush of shadows

in a half-naked room

bending, writhing

against the skin of a musky moon

     come into me

as if you were wind

     stealing my breath

lah 6.18.17 ©®

All I could remember was the crisp rain crashing against the window -- the deafening roar of thunder, as drops of rain slid down the crystal glass. The snowy bright moon was up, and I laid tousled against my small bed that gently rocked back and forth like a swaying boat on the calm sea.

Then there was a figure. An ominous dark shadow that loomed over my crib, with a silver pointed knife at hand. The moon shone against the blade and the dagger glistened brilliantly before my eyelids gradually opened.

The night was beautiful with the sweet whisper of wind as my terrified screams burned through the dark.

I was stolen, swept away from all that I had ever known and loved -- taken away secretly in a hushed breath.

And when I looked back at my warm comfy cradle, my outer self ten years older as I banged mercilessly at the invisible force that constrained me from entering my past world… the baby inside the crib was not me.

                                                               ~~

My parents always warned me about the Dream World. The mystifying world of subtle fantasies and the prosperer of heart-wrenching nightmares.

It is said that any person who enters into the dream world through blanketed sleep is to be erased from the reality realm. Knowing too much about the abnormal universe on the the other side, rumors tell that Overwatchers from the Dream World come to abduct any innocent minds that live in the momentary trance.

For it was promised through shrouded cloaks and insecure handshakes that both worlds would keep their cursed peace… if they didn’t know the truth about the other.

But I was different. Growing up as a inquisitive and anxious individual wanting to know everything about the world and its mysteries, it was definite that I would have the capability to infiltrate the confounding world beyond.

So foolishly shunning out the warnings from my blood parents, only a young baby in my crib, I glided to a shrouded and misted land far away from our universe. Venturing through paradox cosmos and flaming stars, everything seemed to mix together in a equivocal space. Time, emotion, and the knowledge of anything seem to freeze… until I reached the Dream World.

When I was there the feeling of warmth spread through my skin as I steadily woke. All around me was the sprouting roots of grass and the blank gray sky that seemed to mourn for color. The tall rays of grass reeked of a dead but lively dull green tint -- the sky complementing it with it’s insipid taste of life.

Unhurriedly rising to my knees, I scanned the vast lands of the Dream World. Dark mountains seem to conquer every sort of scenery and any living organism seem to die in it’s colorless comforts.

Beginning to search around the inexplicable land, my heart suddenly stopped to a halt.

My eyes diverted down to my feet and my tender hand briskly swept against my face. I stood motionless in the fields of grass as the world seemed to come crashing down on me.

Unlike my former self inside my fine and elegantly-made cradle, now inside the dream world I was older and took on a different shape. I was more mature and built like an adolescent, nothing like my fragile structure as a baby. My brown hair was longer and I wore clothes that tailored towards my uprising posture.

Thoughts, memories, and pictures of realization snapped into my mind as my heart slowly began fluttering against my chest again. This is what the Dream World is like, I thought to myself, as I ran with wonder towards the moonless mountains.

When I stepped on to the dusky mountains, a whole new world opened to my vision.

Everywhere like reigning weeds on the rolling hills of the mountain were shadowed figures progressively walking. The smoggy silhouettes seemed to inch systematically with each step despite their customized foundation.

The dark shadows were long legged creatures, with a vertical spine and a symmetrical small head. Some appeared to wear drawn-out cloaks or even hats that suited them perfectly.

Even through the crowd of inching outlines, some of the unfathomable creatures reminded me of young kids who wore the extensive cloaks in my world, except in the Dream World these shadows seemed more lifeless and lost.

Although the striding shades did prompt me towards my own world, this didn’t hide their strange behavior.

As I stood in the middle of the sauntering shadows, they seemed to pay no attention to me. They acted as if they had some kind of purpose, although for all that I could see, they seemed to be walking into nowhere.

I couldn’t put the tip of my tongue on it, but the shades were so lively… but at the same time so lifeless.

But as I hesitantly reached out to touch one of the creatures to remedy my curiosity, a strong grip pressed against my shoulder and spun me around.

I was faced with one of the same shadows, except this one in particular was dramatically shorter and possessed a more gruesome face. Realizing that the shade was an Overwatcher, my legs mounted against the ground in a stunned reaction.

Then as the Overwatcher slowly drew me in closer into his blank features, he graciously whispered the words: Ream Lander.

                                                                  ~~

I awoke to foggy clouds and soft winds as the Overwatcher stood in front of me. We were surrounded by complete darkness and nothing but the vibrations of our ringing voices.

As I stared in a trance into the nothingness of the Overwatcher's face, he spoke in his deep rumbling voice as he explained everything to me.

He told of dreams and how they pulled and allured people into their deep fantasies and fascinating pleasures. Whether the dream is conducted by a person whose minds are drawn with immoral thoughts, or the individual is just curious… the person is forever embedded in the Dream World.

The Overwatcher continued with the shadows, how these humans who have fallen into the Dream World by mistake or with purpose never return to the reality realm. And that if they desire to return to their home, they must live eternally and surrender their lives to claim their original form.

So each one of the shades are given a vision to their true reality, where they cannot be seen by their loved ones or other shades. Rather, they are challenged with the ongoing impediment of getting back their lives through a clear invisible force. Whether these spirited shadows fight to grasp their souls or be consumed by the hate, envy, and emotions of the shade is up to them.

When the dark Overwatcher finished his description, he shot his hand into the darkness and created an empty swirling portal that ignited quickly through the dark.

Although tears began flowing down my face and I refused to enter the doorway, the Overwatcher illustrated his last final piece to me.

He spoke of how entering the portal would make me serve as one of the shadows that aimlessly walked for lifetimes… never aging but with purpose until there was none. How as a young shade I would get a flash of my own reality in my own world and that I had to save my past form or I would slave as a shade forever.

The Overwatcher advised me of how as a shade in the reality realm, even though I couldn’t be seen in my regular or shade structure, that I could reincarnate as a personal spirit animal in my world.

And how when I was in the mesmerizing fake reality, that I would be accompanied with a simple aged tree that counted the transient time I had left in my own realm.

Then before words could softly fall off my lips, with a single nimble motion, the Overwatcher pushed me into the portal and I tumbled down to my invisible vision.

Now in my mere reality that was blocked by an interior force, I recounted the mission on my hands and reawakened my motivation to return back to my own world. I ran around my own realm and constantly knocked at the invisible shield to notify my parents I was there, trying to tear away at the eternal tenacious window that secluded me on the other side. I would also change timelines and certain events to show them that I was present.

And most of all, I would battle my Dream World replacement and struggle to gain back my place in the real world.

Where I would take menacing risks and chances to free myself from my distressful state. To find that wisp of hope to help me endure through the tragic times. And to observe my parents grow old with my replacement, feel the piercing pain of their memories, and to watch as the leaves from the faded tree wither and gently fall to the ground… while I die further away from reality.

Does anyone have an idea as to why The Prose FB page has been archived and its status changed from Public to Secret? I see we will no longer be able to post, comment, like, share, etc. Is this becoming some kind of a secret club instead of the inclusive forum we've all believed it to be? This concerns me greatly.

Life is so unfair

I will not lie to you

People get broken 

People get used

From love lost

Hearts shatter

It feels like

Nothing else matters

The world has been

So unfair to you

Leaving you down

All sad and blue

Now you've given up

You let yourself get hurt

But I care

For what it's worth

Hun, 

I have to say

You deserve better

Both yesterday and today

Don't let them 

Bring you down

Put on a smile

Lose that frown

Once upon a field of snow the sparrow sang and

the wind did slow.  The lovers' bones sunk within

their chest of earth and flesh; fresh did the ground smell

in spite of its old roots and rotted fruits.  Footsteps

crossed in jagged paths of miscellaneous findings

and walkers seeking warmer bindings.  Beneath

crusted snow lay helpless silt, brought to and fro

through nearby dams rebuilt.  The sun crackled

and clucked like the morning chick, then sunk again

with dusk so slick, it melted ice on picket fences

that dead men sturdied every year; the living spare

their own expenses.  Rounded hooves trek the white,

as the horses loom and avoid frigid bite.

Looking out through panes of glass I see the world

and all the past, the footprints, trials, deaths

across the pale vast.

There are no poet heroes

At least as far as I can know

In whom pure reason grows.

There are no philosopher kings

In this age when insanity sings

To the bell's off-key ring.

I wonder what tomorrow holds

For those who feel the heavy load

And wish someday to grow old?

I thought I could write the end

But now I'm tempted to spend

A little ink urging us to think again.

Here am I anxiously waiting

For that flash of inspiration

That comes from God or Satan.

What if the spark refuses to start

My mind turns down the part

And I find that I have lost the art?

Unless I recover the power of rhyme

And reason reigns at least a time

The truce ends; justice is blind.

But then I think, words are empty

Chaos is what destiny sent me

And I should just breathe deeply.

I wonder how the world would name

The first responder they send

To write about the pretty flames.

when all the words

I've chiseled out of myself,

break the surface of flesh,

and I bleed out the blackened scabs,

I'll stand naked in the light,

and look down

on my shotgun-shadow,

and see myself for the first time

in a mirror made of dirt.

and I will build a rake made from the bones

of empty pens to scratch the itch

of phantom phrases,

ones cut off long ago,

before I really knew how to use them.

and I will erase my ink with flame,

and filter the fumes through myself

in one final attempt to say it all

in signals of smoke that rise up

until sunrise smells like death

and looks like the silhouette

lying on the ground before me.

Your thoughts against mine

undressing every particle

of my unconquerable soul

Let my words;

Caress your weary smile

Move your yearning heart

Serenade that cerebrating mind of yours

only to unfold all the wonders of the world

until your last

Dying breath

And he knew

That between those lines

Between the linen

And restricted breaths

What was there

Was always his

To find