Battle For My Soul

Based on another nightmarish dream I had.

A stealthy approach taken when sneaking down the hall in bare feet,

clad in lilac silk, the ends of her hair curling after having tossed

and turned on sweat dampened sheets and down stuffed pillows.
Prickled skin, the enveloping response to the chill of nighttime

and the heavy presence in her room that hovers relentlessly

as the sun hides away and the curtains effortlessly billow.

In the echoey distance, singsong voices lure, like sirens on Ithaca,

lounging on kelp adorned rocks amidst a tempest of sea foam glory,

deceptive beauties awaiting weary, lust filled sailors in need of escape,

and so like a sailor she's drawn to the song of eerie composition,

the need to discover the otherworldly realm that has tormented her nights

and find the source of song that's offered glimpses of a supernatural filled traipse.

Down the dimly lit hall, faded photos frame the musty, aged walls,

generations of secrets stare lifelessly, some somber eyed,

others offering subtle smirks of scandals always dancing on their lips,

now buried under earth, and we are left wondering.

She holds a candle tightly, little wax droplets kissing her trembling hand,

her own tradition of old. Shunning bits and pieces of modern comforts

for the antiquated beauty of fire warm and flickering.

Reaching the hall's end, where a door awaits, silently begging to be opened,

its tarnished round doorknob gleaming like specks of gold

with the candlelight casting dancing shadows against the wall.

The singing gravitates her hand to open the door, a slight, creaky turn

and solid push reveals a raging battlefield cushioned by a lush garden

of extravagant flowers and fragrance, framed by exotic trees pregnant

with fruit, willows, and redwoods so curvaceous and tall.

Angels and demons face off ferociously, their fury like wildfire,

raging and unstoppable in blue and orange tsunami waves of furnace heat.

She gasps, and eyes water and burn at the force and intensity

roaring before her, and without warning she's forced to her knees.

A voice from within commands she open her eyes and acknowledge the war crazed elites.

So she makes herself watch, sees angels resplendent in glory,

cascading hair and shimmering skin, wielding swords emanating

energy pure and true, their beauty so moving, their dancelike movements

refined as diamonds, inspiring tears of unknown gratitude.

The demons grotesque, force of evil surrounds their decaying forms,

gnarled claws grasp pikes and pitchforks that clash heavily and screech during the interlude.

And something catches her eye, dark shadow looming like an angry cloud.

It's the presence that disturbed the foot of her bed at night,

that feeling so heavy and sucking energy like a starving leech.

Dread washes over her fear prickled body and she reaches out

to the angels with a desperate plea. With a shocking spark,

her inner eye sees, understands, this battle becomes vivid imagery,

and I see that SHE is ME.

My wrongdoings displayed, secrets of shame revealed,

blood thats tainted with guilt and anxiety. I reek of confusion, dismay,

of weakness and pain, my heart beating for recognition as I float through murky,

skeleton waters flowing into Hades. Always searching for truths and beauty,

and I fall short of succeeding in the hunt for my minds realities.

The ugliness before me starts dispersing, streaks of light beams

pierce through the wall of demons that rage and start struggling to stand strong.

But the angels are immovable, their leader turns and meets my eye,

and comfort and reassurance sear through me. They fight.

They fight for my right to life and second chances. I'm struck with revelation

that I witness the constant struggle for my soul, privileged to view the battle to keep me free.

I close me eyes in utter disbelief of these unexpected happenings.

And when they open again I'm back in bed, fingers clutching the sheets

and my body dewed with sweat, hair plastered against my neck.

Sitting up I look around and recollect my nightmarish dream, 

painting a war of angels versus demons, and I know it's true,

that the spiritual realm thrives unseen. There is a battle for our souls.

 

A gust of wind from my open windows reminds me it's the dead of night.

Quickly I run to close them and glancing out I see the angry laden

figure of darkness lurking in the foggy dark. And I smile as I swoosh the curtains shut,

knowing that angels watch over me until i'll breathe no more and eternity shines bright.

Reviews

[Henry]

This is like a mudslide of words. I envy writers who produce drawn out ideas in long lines. It's something i've always struggled with... Some gold nuggets in this!

"I reek of confusion, dismay, of weakness and pain" - That was a home run in my mind. The kind of life-giving to states of the mind that all writers should imitate. A treat to read, had me reflecting a lot!

- Henry

[MandaBear]

Oh my! I hope you dont have this nasty dream again! Nothing but good dreams for you! Great write though!