On a corn husk tick I slept.
Rough boards, windows with no glass.
Through thirsty sleep, dream's visions crept.
Birds fly through and at night bats
I hear them fluttering oer head.
On my pillow they would walk.
On my foot two punctures bled.
Vampire remnants. Morning, six o'clock.
A spider on my bleeding toe.
Bedding lumps, like roots beneath loam.
I felt movement in the husks below,
where rats had made their home.
Twasn't a dream that the mind makes.
Lifting the tick to shake them out.
Not rats, a den of poisons snakes,
that now came pouring about.
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Author:
sorenbarrett (
Offline) - Published: December 28th, 2023 04:12
- Comment from author about the poem: A true story from my past but also a metaphor
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
Offline)
Comments3
A fine write SB.
Thanks Orchi
this really is excellent poetry in my humble opinion .. and like I may have said before, what else is a meta for eh' 🙂
Thanks Neville your comments are always valued as an excellent poet yourself
May that poison be no longer with you and your life is full of joy and love.
Andy
Thanks Andy for the review and kind wish. Never bitten just startled.
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