Cassandra’s Tears

Tears of joy, tears of pain, we are reflected in the salt-water pools we create. So let us build a fleet of paper boats and sail them on our ocean of indecision, laughing at the wind-whipped white-crested waves that would wash over us, drowning us in our own despair, yet somehow never vanquishing us in the end.

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Location: Lennoxville, Quebec, Canada

Wednesday, May 18, 2005

A Restless Night

The door opens on tomorrow;
I prefer to stay inside.
The windows peer into next week;
I will stay in bed and hide.

There lingers in my mouth
A bitter, acrid taste
Of ashes, fire, smoke and fear,
People running, making haste.

Children leapt from parapets
To escape the roaring flames:
Hungry tongues of liquid fire
Playing terrifying games.

I too jump from some great height,
My wings are now unfurled
As I grasp the crying children,
One with straight hair, one with curled,

Her angelic features
Contorted with her fear;
But I am the angel now,
I am the saviour here.

Suddenly the scene changes
As it often does in dreams.
I’m wandering in my mother’s house,
But it is not as it seems.

I know this place, at least I should,
I’ve lived here all my life;
Except this isn’t my mother’s house.
In the kitchen I find a knife

Covered in gore and sticky still.
I shudder at the touch,
And lay it with the other tools
Of torture on the hutch.

This is all a dream, I think,
Soon I will wake up.
But until morning I am caught
With bile in my coffee cup.

And so as one weird scene morphs
Into a weirder yet again,
I frantically await the dawn,
Be it sun or be it rain;

And when I do wake up at last
There is a heaviness in my head.
I rise and pull the curtains closed,
Then return once more to bed.


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