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I see his wretched face,
Every night in sleep.
My dreams are no safe place,
Because my wounds are cut too deep.

I exhaust my mind every night,
Running from this fearsome foe.
Rage, only surpassed by might,
I watch the tempest grow.

Fear quickly turns to panic,
When I look into those stormy eyes.
My nights belong to a manic,
And no-one, save he, hears my cries.

My dreams are in full color,
And the blood flows deep red.
My only hope, is that the visions grow duller,
And I'm once again left at peace in my bed.

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The following comments are for "Sleep"
by Reba

Your poem...
Disturbing dreams, beautiful poem Reba. And thankyou for your comments as well. I will read more of your work I hope. Take care.

-David Culver

( Posted by: moonrising36109 [Member] On: March 14, 2004 )

This was quite poignant the way it brings to live the vividness of disturbed dreams, certainly not enjoyable reading, but it moves and provokes - in this case, a much better response. Well done!

( Posted by: De`esse [Member] On: April 30, 2004 )

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