the things i could tell you—
they’re almost criminal.
but i only find your lips,
soft with ache for me,
in the quiet dark of dreams.
i carry you
like a wound that scabs
but never bleeds.

and if you were here,
really here,
i think i’d take the risk.
let my life fold in half,
see if you’d catch me
as i come apart
under your touch.

but i know you wouldn’t.
so i’ll hold onto
this fantasy for now,
praying that your flickers
eventually burn out.

Before they begin their tapping
dreams nestle in shadows, napping;
growing, groping and grooming
in the blood the day is drawing
from the wicked wounds of walking—

     In all meter and measure
     beyond meaning and pleasure;
     with each tick wounds are dripping,
     with each tock midnight is waiting!

Though lagging and lacking
the speed seconds requiring,
the Minute Hand must outstand
all the heartbreak till the day’s end
and tally each looping sally
of seconds’ light-footed rally
around all measured rant,
rushing like a foraging ant
ticking and towing crusty crumbs
from Time’s forbidden lumps.

Until the iron-booted Sentinel
watching each hour’s terminal
sounds the late day’s knell
and salutes the midnight spell
with spear prodding straight up,
tapping napping dreams to wake up.

Now, they flood the heavens’ starlit strait,
milking the dreamer’s cataclysmic cosmic plate.

Hence the eaves of the heavens droop
and sag in a sleepy silent stoop,
scooping minutes’ heart-ached soup
on the brink of a dream laden swoop.

Here the heavens sigh in shallow heaves,
whispering dreams
from where Shadow lives—
far below the sun-bathed eye;
yet, far above the sighing sky.

Now is the time to drop all drooping drapes
and steep in a nether land’s old golden grapes
that Philemon aged within scented staves,
mulling archaic aches in shadowy shapes.

From his kingfisher blue and the nightly hue,
shadows leap through to ***** and find you.
Not to destroy, but to explore you;
not to wage war, but to restore you.

Dark as Poe’s black winged Raven;
thus, not good for the cringing craven.
How you didn’t know you bore them laden,
hidden yonder in you, native and graven!

They toss you in a gale you’re scared to sail:
          “When they hail, you think they wail.”
They restage a rending rendezvous:
          “When they woo, you think they boo.”
They pretend the pain of piercing spears:
          “When they kiss, you think they hiss.”
They dance in your drastic defeats:
          “They chant in cheers; you think it's jeers.”

You blanch Fear comes to hunt you;
you didn't see it's for you to pursue.
     You fear Wrath comes to burn you;
     you didn't see fire will forge you.
You panic Pain comes to ******* you;
you didn't see it also will push you.
     You fear Darkness comes to consume you;
     you didn't see it is what's cradled you.
You fear new wounds come to find you;
you didn't see they’re windows about You.

     A grieving Poe was sure;
     We ‘stand amid the roar of a surf tormented shore’,
     while we ‘dream within a dream...'

...and that which keeps carrying us
               ~like a stream~
may also be a dream…
                                  …within a dream.

‘a doorway to the past opening—'
an empowering offering keeping us going...
So, Philemon is no demon—

that which you deem as sweet
may sometimes sap in dreams' sourest seed.

© Hirondelle, August 04, 2025
    Arif Hifzioglu

A tender sea rocks my boat
it is lulling me to sleep,
gentle breeze is like coat
I fall into it deep.

I trust this stormy water
I won't be on my own
endless waves sing softer
almost semi tone.

I love this sea, these seagulls
this noisy wind and sheer sky,
some stretched canvas on easel
and painting now is dyed.

https://youtu.be/MLIWD-uVus4

I need to feed
to sate my greed
I need to kiss
the one I miss
I need to cry
but dry I sigh
I need to play
on another day
I need to laugh
also a bath
I need to scream
another bad dream
I need to drive
to keep me alive
I need to read
my soul to feed
I need to create
it's not to late
I need someone
for warmth and fun
I need to live
theres more to give
I need to care
for another out there.

sometimes i wake
from a fever-dream
spent with a mystery being –
evaporating too quickly
to savour
leftover feelings,
and hidden benefits
of a midnight affair
with someone
that doesn't exist.

when the day
is half gone,
i'm still lovesick,
incapable of
stopping my mind
from hoping
there’s a button somewhere
to hit re-wind.

i dreamt about us —
a forbidden touch,
where hands met,
souls intertwined,
shirts unbuttoned,
drunk on wine.

i dreamt of the slowest burn —
sparks from your lips
merging with fuel from mine
tilting my entire world
upside down.

‘did you sleep well?’ you ask,
stirring your morning coffee.
i smile, face flushed with heat.
‘i had such an angelic dream.’

your face,
infront of mine --
you look so heavenly
up close.
your breath grazes mine,
our noses
almost touch...
but i blink,
and you're gone. 
you're just a figment
of my imagination.