PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

To sleep; to dream; to run through a wicked world
of shifting reality and the eternal dripping of blood.
She kissed me, this night, in my dream,
An ethereal being of poise and mind and mist,
and turned away coyly, with blushing cheeks, and a smile.
When I pulled her back to me the she was different,
and smelt of grave dirt as she leaned forward and
asked me for that same kiss the other had given me.
Her beauty was gone in the decay of death
that overcame all semblance of the life she'd once held.
I pulled away, disgusted, revolted, and she asked me,
in a voice that dripped with honey,
why her appearance was not pleasing to me now;
when it was I who'd caused the change.