Poetry Death Stalks in Dreams
The Homepage, Poetry & Artwork of Steven R. McEvoy
This is my homepage but most of my web presence is on my blog, Book Reviews and More. It is a collection of my published and unpublished writing, mostly book reviews, with a few articles and reflection's. If you want to poke around here the key sections are Poetry, Artwork, and Lists.
I have written poetry for as long as I can remember. And I try and read a book or 2 of poetry each year.
Death Stalks In Dreams!
The one who rides the pale horse, has the bony hands, face with out skin, does stalk in dreams. He does choose if a soul is good or evil. His horse is such a magnificent steed, tall and proud, at least 15 hands high, with strong firm flanks. Death is always there, always the threat. they KILL many in front of you, and say that "you can end just the same". They torture and let them die slow, making sure you know just how cruel they can be. They tell you you can end the same. They tell you, "You got it easier, your not dead are you ! Yet!" Just been screwed and screwed over. Would the man on the pale horse not often be preferred.
Who are really the lucky one's?
Who are really the unlucky one's?
Who am I?
How come I yet still do live?
How come Thantos has so often passed me by?
Maybe he enjoys the cruelty, and for some to live with the past is often worse then the ride with death.
In dreams he does haunt, in dreams he does stalk. In dreams you heat the eerie laugh, echoing from the mouth without lips. Laughing, Laughing, Laughing that deep dark gurgle of death!
Word's are just jumbled letters we try to order. Thoughts are like the ravens in the sky. The mind is the open sky, with "reality" being the grounded tree's below. God is the sun that lights our way's. Thoughts, Images, dreams are the birds that fly here and there with in the skyscape the mind. At times the blue of the sky can not be seen for the number of birds flying to and frow. yet other times the sky is empty and it's hard to find even the one bird hiding there. Yet all these thoughts do land, and feed on the carrion that is put into our minds, by this society, this world, this life. They then die or become diseased, grounded, living on the soil, the bloodied soil, forbidden to soar to the sky. As time goes on the sky become starker and starker, as dreams do die to be replaced by nightmare's, haunting, foul, evil, wicked nightmare' s!
Now the sky once full of flocks and flocks of thoughts, is now as barren as the desert. The desert of the soul!
March 3rd 1993