A narrative poem-prompt/ I don't use drugs, my dreams are frightening enough. |
A narrative poem (60 lines) for the "Invalid Item" contest. It was a drug induced dream. A nightmare that woke me through My tears, a steady stream, And worse, I couldn't check on you. At a friend's for the night, I longed to touch your head, Have you in my sight. I sat there till daybreak, on your bed. It was still early when I sped Down the road to you. My heart was filled with dread, This, the only thing I knew to do. I remained calm, waiting at the door For you to gather your stuff. I had to stop at a closed store, And hold you, no longer so tough. I told you of my awful night, You and your sister gone. Taken from me in plain sight, And me left standing alone. Your father and I, we went Everywhere, looking for you two. We found him, standing hell-bent, Leaning on his truck, our angry view. Your dad, intent on shooting to kill, Stepped out of the car, The man laughed, thinking we will Never find you where you are. A snarling dog met him when He started the man's way. Your father decided then, The man would "get his" another day. We drove away. Slowly we went, Down every road we found. As we crept a road curvy and bent, We heard a familiar sound. Your voices, calm but scared, Coming from a place very near. A small shed with one wall bared, The floor, a huge metal slab. You were here! With super-human mom strength, I Lifted the slab, tossed it away. What I saw made me cry, Naked and dirty you both lay. You were in shock, both of you. You were speechless and she Talked ninety miles an hour. The two Of you very relieved to see me. When I finished telling my nightmare, For a few hours, we held each other. I was so glad to have you there. You said,"I love you, Mother." So I think it is needless to say, Never again did I take that Prescription. My pain, it would just have to stay, My knees all swollen and fat. The pain I experienced that night Remains with me to this day, And not having my children in sight Is a price I'm not willing to pay. |