Perchance I was dreaming, drawn from a dreary doze,
Sadly I was sleeping scheming but stricken from repose.
Stirred from a silence screaming, but it’s not what I chose,
Echoes of the nightly screening seeming to not disclose.
If I sought to scratch the seam, the sting of substance,
Thorny, thinly grasping any theme with great reluctance.
A gasp, agape, a gleam—wonder prevail with such insistence,
Surely there was a stream, still my memory slates resistance.
A brilliant blur, a beam of light, what had I just caught?
Unsullied sight, a seraphim, my mind’s eye had sought.
Quite daringly do I deem, the darkness had I fought,
A ruddy soul to redeem, indelibly was it wrought.
Mary has been a writer and artist for over a decade. Her passions lie somewhere between the beautiful and the macabre, but she enjoys every aspect of life. She explores the mysteries of the Last Frontier and the written word but dabbles in her love of artwork through the digital medium.