A City of Dreams

Sat, 04/20/2013 - 19:01 -- Sonic13

I pray of You tonight for a city of dreams,
one where a wise man can ease his aching bones
and halt his aimless running through this endless,
tiring path – wandering, pondering deeply of the origin
of this protrusive rubbish that protrudes prominently from
the concrete beneath my bare feet concealed within thick, crimson red.

Concrete’s ruggedness pries one bruised foot from another, a dark red
splattered everywhere; and yet, I search for a city of dreams
as if somewhere, in that heavenly city of dreams, from
You, exists a purpose, for return, for these bones
and body of mine to rest. Far from my true origin,
I seek a brand new life away from endless,

accursed persecution. Away from religious assault and endless
strife among similar peoples with slightly differing ideals. Red-
brown sand to dusty concrete floors, I reminisce of my origin,
of my home back in desert lands, of statues of cats to dreams
and history inscribed in ancient text, and linen-covered bones.
And here I am, surrounded by traffic lights and streets; from

my right waves a rusted copper woman with a torch, and from
my left points inhabitants from other lands within this endless
country. Up and down and left and right, my trembling bones
fear pursuers amongst myself – hunting dogs that stink of red
blood running through their pitch-black German coats. Dreams
of families tied into religion is their prey – their food. Our origin

is their litter box; they see our very origin
as worthless – useless – pitilessly removing us from
our very home and land, from our precious dreams
and friends and family. These hunting dogs are endless;
bound by these chains of religion and family, their sullied red-
blood paws rip apart our purpose in living, our very lives and bones—

And suddenly, I awake from this trance of oppression, my aching bones
and sobbing heart disrupted by an unfamiliar setting, my origin
darker than this white, brightly-lit room. My hardened red
hands lay on what seems to be a bed and gadget from
this land. I remove these wires and hear an endless
beep. My bruises healed, unlike my dreams.

A young nurse suddenly clutches my red, bloody hands. I am hurt badly from
leaving my origin. And now, suddenly, pain steps up to sing a song that sounds endless,
playing my bones like a guitar. A fleeting freedom that hurts – a city of dreams.

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741