by Emily Keverne
My dreams have been so dark of late. In truth
A nightmare holds me, every night the same.
If I could find some meaning, hidden proof,
To manifest what’s latent in my brain
Perhaps, then, it would end – this nightly toil
To reach the morning’s light, unscathed, unharmed.
Perhaps, then, it could pass: a night unspoiled
By broken images and strange alarms.
So real it seems, so unerringly true:
A door is opened, danger lurks behind.
Then to morning’s light I wake and rue
That dreams cannot so easily rewind.
A madness it may be, but one that I,
For my dear parents’ sake, shall not confess
As tiring though it be – I sleepless lie! –
The trouble is my own. Let others rest.
Alone in darkness, then, to fight it out.
Before me pen and paper: let me think.
This is the crisis, one without a doubt
To push the sanest person to the brink.
I feel it building, this will be the night
When I shall know the door, when I shall see
What comes for me – shall draw in to the light
This mystery and, wakeful, I shall be
A master of my dreaming. I shall grasp
The meaning from my memory. I’ll recall
My wayward phantom fragments, conscious gaps,
And, with this jigsaw puzzle, conquer all!
Beside the lamp light, blanket-wrapped, I sit
With head by pillows cradled. Now I lie
With paper half-forgotten – sleep has flit
Unwatched for over me, and I slip by.
To sleep, perchance to dream – or so it’s said.
To sleep perchance to question and reply.
Within my world of dreams, upon my bed,
I dream a living dream, perchance to die.
A door is opened, knives and shining eyes
Creep stealthy through the house, we unaware.
Inside my dream we sleep, deep lullabies,
As death comes stealing softly up the stairs.
Emily Keverne is a part-time writer from Cornwall, Britain. Emily studied at the University of Plymouth, receiving a BA in English and an MA in English and Culture, and she has had one poem published online as Café Aphra’s Poem of the Month.