The Dream

We perch beside the bloodied
flames that dance within our

eyes, and we strive to revive a dream —
now infested, dead,

Winter wraps our
bones, whistles through our flesh,
and we stare

at the decaying corpse of our
chimera
claimed by ants,
maggots
and
flies.

A vulture glides
further down the stream

— tomorrow’s dinner it eyes –as the barren
forest hisses.

We try to chase the crows
away.

“Get out of my
dream,” we plead, and they
caw, laugh out
bitingly.

They too
have a right to this
earth. So they circle in and out,

and the ants approach
in lines
that do not end.

We shout and trample
some. But more
rush out with sharpened hungry teeth.

We shriek and cry.

Far away, in an unknown land
a seed of hope
scattered from our thoughts
sprout into the lushest vine.

The leaves don’t know
our names but creep on

to the shores of a vermilion dawn.

***

Fariel Shafee has degrees in science but enjoys writing and art.  She has published prose and poetry in decomP, Ygdrasil, Foundling Review etc.  She has also exhibited art internationally.