The Gilded Gate…

Dreaming – The Gilded Gate…

Thunder bellows from the sky, descending to valley floor, it roused me from a deep sleep; the one lying beside me does not move, they do not wake. It quickly becomes darker; the profound sounds hold angrily above the valley they bounce off the forest, trees sways in the wind. Without warning, the winds spiral upward into the thunder and lightning. The valley was like a ringed abyss. The wind continued like torment and blaspheming.

A sadness began to settle in, is this the outer certainty of hell? I questioned my faith, would my lover and I die within this doomed place, God please hear my pleading. I cried. Did I fall asleep, did I fall into a restless dream, and then an obedient voice was heard. Within this dream. I witnessed countless people, their hopelessness as they walked slowly through a gate.

The dream continued on, leaving me bewildered in my darkest deepest sleep. Then rose a widening light, it filled half of the darkness, “Who Master are those that walk through the gilded gate”. My master smiles at me, it was then that the gate opens to me wide green lawns stretched as far as the eyes could see. Then marvelous spirits approached. I moved quickly trying to walk into the moving light.

I woke and the darkness fell around me, the wind had left the valley, I would live for another day.

©elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

AUTHOR’S NOTE: A Dream

AUTHORS BOOK AT AMAZON.COM
https://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_4_8?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=ann+johnson-murphree&sprefix=ann+john%2Caps%2C221&crid=RM5ALVGUNEEB

Excerpt: Poetry from Rhythm Rhyme Thoughts

rranst

Dance

My life was not to be, it stopped, astonished, I hold to the memory as you would a child upon your lap, I grow old without growing. I most frequently return the grave. The grave will not give up my child. I am an old woman with nothing left but memories.

I have no home to go back too, no one wants me to visit, aunts, uncles all dead. No longer does anyone whisper of them. I wish the people of my youth were gathered in one place. Nevertheless, it was not to be, not for me, no mother, no father, their all in the graveyard.

The child in me is ready to go home, to change, and to stand by the road crying out “I am home”. I stand on the stump of my childhood. Life is still lost. The branches of my tree are barren, only air fills that space. The world that was my world.

I am all burned out, a flash in a century, now ash. No one notices me here on the stump by the road, the sap runs out of the trees; I too will soon do the slow dance toward my permanent home.

Copyright 2018

 

 

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