dream

i caught a silver wasp, who cringed when caught: to let it fly - in starry horizons, gold leaves beckon. i did not understand how this dreary earth could hold splendor told from tiny life beseeching much. so let it fly i did, and turn around, i flew to hidden lairs, nesting earth humming low and languid like: boiling lava spewed forth golden flames licking the air like trees waving to the friendless sky. her eyes have been dimmed from ugly giants trampling on sacred stones, hearken not; bereft, forlorn, extinguished smoke carries no weight. and then the water splashes from revolutionary sea to tepid beach, the cooling leaves dwindled, retreated with quiet grace; lonesome giants fell asleep on midnight's watch having no more angst to bury another memory into poignant nerves still flinching from curses made. later on, in the dreadful night, i heard the call of a wasp searching for splendid skies, found not when hollowed earth leaves a vacuum. sparks, embers, radiant heat burning in night's cold caress, and it was then i startled shook, shivered, opened my weary eyelids to find placid walls still surrounding, a light grew dim, found myself clutching tight to starry fields with flaming tongues, stone giants lay inert from curses unleashed: i did not cry. having forgotten what it meant when voidness stings, much more than dreams fading out.