I washed up onto consciousness
after a stormy night.
Debris lay strewn across the shore,
shards of horror and fright.
I picked my way gingerly –
if I touched one I would scream –
and vowed to never again succumb
to either sleep or dream.
But then I found a dreamshell –
a fragment, shining still –
the memory of a blissful scene
shattered, yet serene.
So now, when night next hovers near
I undress myself of fear
and leave my life in its darkened den
to go plunge in again.
Published 1993, Sparrowgrass Poetry Forum. All rights reserved.