That evening, when the night
returns to me and the echoes
of my dreams run from memory,
I awoke to see the ceiling above
blossoming open like a lily.
Time melted. My scarlet blankets
fell away, leaving only bedsheets
trapped beneath my body.
I was pressed into the downy
comfort of the mattress.
I was launched.
My face went numb from the icy
wind that broke against my body.
There was nothing to hear but wind.
My bed, my humble place of sleep,
a blaze of red cutting through the sky.
The sheets tangled around my legs.
This was the ascent.
The sky magnified ever so quickly,
until I could have kissed the nose
of Sirius. And there my red cradle
stayed, hanging in the blackness.
I was left to stare in wonder at
the infinite blanket of space,
at the white and pastel smears
of all the dust in the heavens.
There was no shifting
of head nor limb nor finger.
There was no movement at all.
It was as though the very
beating of my heart had stopped
in respect for something greater than itself.
A great peace washed over me
like a wave that brushes the shore,
and I knew then that my final breath could leave
and time would shed no tears for me.
And yet I could not sleep for fear
that as I rested
God would open his drooping eyes
among the cosmic sky
and tell me the secrets of the universe,
and upon waking those words
would seem like nothing
but the evanescent whispers of my dreams.
I’m turning this in for my poetry course to be workshopped because of its imperfections. What do you think?