Sweet Dreams

There’s an ancient, ancient house that I see sometimes in my dreams,

Where the empty windows glare down at me as I walk towards the remains of what used to be,

Where the air is filled with the sweet scent of forget-me-not’s

And the vase of roses on the kitchen table wither into grey,

The voices of the past sing me the lullaby of yesterday,

In the crumbling hallways and rooms I walk, and wait, and listen.

Listen as they retell me the story of the past.

This used to be a sanctuary of love,

But now shadows take the place of sunny memories,

And every time find I myself revisiting this museum of the past

I find myself trying to re-enact it,

Playing house with skeletons.

Lost in the ecstasy of my subconsciousness,

Too lost to notice that it is only a dream,

Until the morning sunlight kisses my eyelids and I am pulled back.

A sadness settles in my chest and sends a tremble through my soul,

For I have to wait another night to go back.

 

Reflection:

This poem is an emulation I did of “A Garden” by H.P Lovecraft.  I decided to emulate this poem because it is one of my favorite pieces by H.P Lovecraft, and because of the way he describes the garden in the original piece.  I thought it was a really beautiful way to share a story.  This piece by Lovecraft presents us with an individual who is revisiting their past in the form of this garden, it shares the loneliness this individual is feeling at the time “I will often seek to find when it was I knew that garden in an age long left behind” . For my own emulation for this piece I tell a story of a person who is haunted by their past, they miss the life they had before  and the lost the people most important in their life. I think H.P Lovecraft is a really amazing writing and I remember the first time I read one of his works in creative writing last year, and as a new writer I personally found a lot of inspiration by reading his work. I often try to imitate the theme of darkness that you see in all of his work in my own writing. I think that any new writer should be exposed to his work, because I think by exposing yourself to a lot of other writers you can also build on your own identity as a writer, and I think that Lovecraft definitely played a role in that for me.

 

Link to original work:

http://www.hplovecraft.com/writings/texts/poetry/p100.aspx

Header Image:

Xaviera Lopez, Black and White animation, Giphy.com, xavieralopez, https://giphy.com/gifs/art-animation-black-and-white-3o7TKTapr4dQr6GWZy

The Destruction Within

 

 

 

 

She was beautiful like four in the morning.

Like the quiet that settles after a storm.

She was a dream.

A puzzle of stars and perfect lines.

A trigger waiting to be pulled.

A wild torrent of colors and destruction.

In a maze of dust and smoke, she was lost.

Her bones heavy and tired, she ached.

Ached for light.

Ached for warmth.

Ached for a way out.

She longed for an end.

An escape.

Some relief.

She cut at her skin.

Pressed the blade in until she felt something.

Anything.

To take back what she had lost.

Control.

Until she lost herself.

 

However all storms must end.

And all mazes have a way out.

When the dust settled, and the sky came into view,

The world changed.