The Dream of Court Church

A poem about a weird dream I have been having since I was a child.

The stress keeps me awake

My bedtime is pushed forward an hour

Three hours

At three thirty I admit defeat and rest my head

Or so I think

Gritted teeth and dry mouth

Growling belly

Arching back

Aching wisdom tooth

The pillow slowly slips away from me

I try to dream up horrible fantasies 

Male vulnerability

Hostages and electrodes

Conscious becomes unconscious

While I lie awake trying to be as still as a wall

Instead I tremble like a leaf attached to the tree by a millimeter 

I know in the morning my blankets will seem so much softer

My dreams absolutely captivating

I’ll have regretted my time of cold feet and absolute terror

The next day will bring horrors unimaginable

Humiliation, fear, rushing from place to place

And without warning I achieve what I’ve been waiting for

I drift away

I’m in the room of my dreams

My room

I don’t remember ever physically going there but here I am

And it is so familiar.

I see it every three years in my dreams

I must belong there in some way

It is the room of my soul

The place of turning points, perhaps

All-encompassing mahogany brown

Nineteenth century

A court house, a church and a mansion all in one

Justice, religion, riches

Do I believe in any of these things?

My eyes drink it all in although I’ve seen it many times without remembering

I think it is in England

This place

A long table at the front

And a pulpit and an altar

It is hard to remember

But so vivid in dreams

There are other rooms

Thousands

But this room stands at the top of the mansion

A square balcony in the middle of the room opens to the rest of the house below

It is filled with gold and brown antiques

They remind me of my bookish grandmother

I see a classmate of mine from university

I sang in Chapel Choir with him

An aspiring conductor now

Always taking things seriously and getting excellent marks

He greeted me

Seeing as it was a dream I expected some wise conducting advice

Since I have no aptitude for it at all

But suddenly a frightening brown-haired marionette was pressed to my face

Muppet-like in appearance with red lips and freakish features

Beckoning me to come to her

In some dark cabaret of the mind

But I was already there

My classmate’s face was impossible to see now

She consoles and coaxes

Dances with me

I know he wants to manipulate me

His puppet tells me to relax and sit down

My pink roommate barges in and doesn’t seem at all curious about what is going on

She looks on the ground for what she is missing

And speaks in short confused sentences

I feel uncertain, yet relaxed

I think I am safe since my roommate is in the same room

The puppet pinches my shin and injects a clear fluid into my leg

Then extracts the blood slowly and uncomfortably

I feel strange, more faint

I open my eyes and I am in my small dark room again

My escape was a success

I still feel the pinch of the needle on my shin

So I shake off the feeling

My first instinct is to try to continue the dream

I want to know what happens next

What happened and why

And yet it was so real

The thought of continuing seemed terrible

I tried and tried but it had stopped for good

For that short time I had completely abandoned my problems and responsibilities

For more frightening new ones

I felt like I was a fictional character

A much better embodiment than being a real person

But that room

Maybe I belong there

Maybe I am something more special than I am now

The room of my dreams, my soul

The room of my past, present and future

Maybe I will call it Court Church

I was left more tired than I had ever felt after a near sleepless night

A walking zombie

The curse of Court Church

Reviews

[levi marken]

can you just get to the point next time try a story poems are bad. thanks for trying thoe.

[Naomi Bloom]

Poems are bad? Really? You should read more poems before you make a statement like that haha. But some people just don't like poetry, I understand.

Thanks for the feedback.