Treasure Island

paddy d daly

(11 7 1961 / balinasloe)

Bad Dreams


They hover in silence
over the roof tops
and descend like frost
on the grey slates,

Waiting always waiting

Until the baby mind
falls silent in sleep,
and still they wait,
listening, listening,

Until breath evens out

Then all the buffers of
the mind are wide open,
They fall like fog,
float down and hypnotise,

Smell like flowers of the dead

They float down and swarm,
softly into the baby mind,
lavender and honey of Summer
still they wait.

Inside now and infesting,

They paralize the voice and
spread out into a void of fear,
The suffocation of a
screaming voice...

No one can hear.

Submitted: Wednesday, October 09, 2013
Edited: Thursday, October 10, 2013

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  • Noreen Carden (1/5/2014 8:26:00 AM)

    Wow Paddy you manage to make something that should be frightening and make it beautiful i am stunned by the beauty of your words, A definite ten (Report) Reply

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