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On this night of a thousand dreams...

Stamped: 13.5.08

...A nightmarish misfortune seems to triumph.


It's dark here--
but I never could see anyway.
The lock to this coffin is stuck fast;
the key was tossed aside long ago.

I'll sleep myself away in here.
And when I wake up,
four hundred years from now,
maybe dark will have become
a symbol for hope.

-------------------------------------------------------------

This is a dagger I see before me,
the handle turned away.
Oh, who made me
this crimson fountain?
I look up and see
my envious reflection.
He is garbed in scarlet armour;
he is proud of his sacrifice.

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Poetry from the month of silence. »
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  • Anonymous Anonymous says so:
    May 28, 2008 at 3:09 PM  

    What I like to do with friends'/acquaintances' poetry is relate it back to any sort of classic literature, just to see if that enhances the meaning, regardless of it being a correct relation.

    With that said, I saw a parallel to Rip van Winkle, but in a not so buffoonish sense. The sleeping for "four hundred years" was probably taken too literally though. The deeper meaning refutes that, though, but I thought you should know my thought process.

    The irony in the color imagery is a nice touch, considering most modern literature/authors find hope in the "dark" of it all.


    The second piece though really made me think of The Picture of Dorian Gray. That made me laugh (in a non-mocking way, I swear) and appreciate your poem more. =) =P top