One Burning Lightbulb© by Celsi Jude Erwing

This is a reprint of something I wrote about one of my weird dreams several years back:

 

I dreamed of hell again.

In a house with tarred, tattered walls

A cathedral ceiling with a long cord,

Onesingle lightbulb burning at the end.

Dimly lit, still.

There was no comfort for me

And I tried to conjure ways to find such.

But the only escape I found for myself

Was down the hall.

Outside, the house stood tall

With it’s chipped away paint

And wood nearing condemnation.

Here, was home.

It reeked of reality, of my hardships,

Of all the ugliness I had hidden away.

Although, now, not even the outside

Would show any glamour I had portrayed.

Last night, I found someone there.

The “who” and “why” were never answered,

But his eyes were so brightly colored blue

And his hair as dark as a moonless eve.

I wanted to believe the compassion in those eyes,

The desire to take the pain, the confusion,

All of the memories that I wanted to forget so desperately.

In the end, faced with the confrontation of this stranger,

I did the only thing I could, or even knew how;

I ran hard and fast, knowing I wasn’t followed,

But racing as if he were right behind me then.

The house never changed, just what it held did.

I am tortured by these memories;

The smells, the taste of the air,

Filled with its filth and rank humidity.

I cannot sleep in the dark tonight,

Yet, to sleep with the glow of the lamp,

With it’s one burning lightbulb,just reminds me…

When will my head lay easily against the down,

And rest peacefully without the memory of Nabenathe?

Tags: Dreams, Poetry, Nabenathe