The Scared and the Wicked

Last night, I had a dream.

It was freezing, freezing cold and
we were running for our lives
across a frozen lake.

It was cold enough for our breath
to come out as great white puffs,
like the exhaust from a steam engine -
white and soft and warm
against a
hard gray sky.

It was cold enough for our breath
to pour out of our mouths
like we were dragons breathing
our own insubstantial kind of fire,
as we strained toward the shore,
the snowbank, the spiky yet
comforting line of trees.

But we weren't dragons -
we were merely humans;
running when we knew from the start
that it was useless, that we were screwed.

Our fate had already roped around every one of us
like a noose, yet
our necks were broken from the day we were born.
Our bones were fragile as glass, yet hopeful.

We held the light in our hands and ribcages,
imagining a world singing with light,
all its inhabitants radiant like lost stars -
while our skin numbed and fell away.

For the scared become the wicked.

--
yep, this actually was part of a dream i had last night. fo' reals.
commenting.
now there's a novel idea. ;]