This is me getting all melodramatic about what someone called “regression” dreams. I have bad dreams of dying in what appear to be previous lives (bullshit, of course), and during the period in which this was written the dreams came more frequently and troubled me during the day — it was a lousy couple’a months. What actually caused all of that is grist for a psychologist’s mill; at this point I really don’t care. *grin*
‘The Darkness Grows’
The Darkness Grows.
With each passing moment, we feel it growing.
more insistent its cries for release, its demands for attention.
We feel it calling to us,
calling from the quiet Shadows we think we hide.
It knows its time is near-
that soon the walls must crumble and this cancer engulf its host.
But for now-
for now the Darkness sleeps.
Great pain we find in sleep.
Horrid flashes of memory and emotion;
The Darkness comes often when we sleep;
our hold over it is slack, our resolve to resist it weaker.
The Shadows rule our midnight-world,
and sleep is but a nightmare.
We die each night.
Our world is become a waking nightmare.
A dream without beginning or end-
just the numbing pain of existence.
What are we doing here?
Where are we going?
What do we truly desire?
We wonder what death will feel like.
Asleep without dreams,
an end with no beginning.
To die is to sleep,
to sleep is to die.