Startled Awake

My eyes shoot open from a dream.
like falling off a balance beam.
I'm still frightened to the extreme.
My stomach drops to my feet.

I now recall what scared me stiff;
Fire circled me on a cliff.
Backing up, burning skin I whiff,
as my gown goes up in flames.

Flailing my arms in wretched air,
nothing to grab, but heat and glare.
Plummeting fast without a prayer
jerked wide awake in my bed.


Written for "The OVI Poem Contest"  [E]
Ovi (ovee): an ancient Indian form of narrative poetry consisting of four-line stanzas with the first three lines rhyming and having eight syllables each. The fourth line does not rhyme and contains less than eight syllables.