Renaissance of a Nightmare by David Chirko Let us go insane, together; Pick the flowers of yesteryear's field, As we linger on, merrily, forever In a world that memories yield. Come with me, I am still listening To the songs that were played way back when... we were too young to be anything, In a place that was, only then. Leave me alone, let me dream; I can't go on - so I'll ride Down the path that'll ream The nightmares, where I'll reside. Weaving a tapestry of images, That flash fluorescent, fallaciously In a book of monochrome pages, That are read, so often, unconsciously. Distorted, deceivingly so real, Censored and synthesized to say; Clandestinely express how I feel Profoundly, in their obscure way. Projections are there to focus, Without them we couldn't exist. Who knows where they've taken us? Perhaps at death they'll desist. One thing, for certain, I'm here As long as I'm conscious of that, Where awareness is always so near. In twilight, it hasn't yet sat. And what is life to a dream? What is a dream at its source? Fantasies, magnified to gleam, Reality a fantasy, of course. Mozart concerto play portly And lightly dance my mind. I will be joining you shortly When archaic images will find. Wish fulfillment, come true, Love of life and death, I've been waiting for you: Obviously, my last breath.

LitArt - If I could speak... Jennette Czuba is an artist with an eye for fine detail. Her intricate portraits of wildlife, pets, houses, and farm scenes capture the magic of her subjects. Find out more about Jennette Czuba WHO CALLS THE OWL Wings slide between shadows riding night suffocate relics of day last life-light in razor-bared flight. Earth dwellers paralyzed abandon hope whimper into magnetic void. Hearing the piercing summons, survivors count the moments left before feathered fall foreshadows fate, glimpsing a world of shaded sorrow leaving sun-circles as a dream trembling on to-morrow's phantom, dark secrets in the mesmerizing beauty of those wings. By: Katherine L. Gordon