A Nightmare, Dear Livingston

I arose into my dream,

clouds of grey, eternally beam,

wet soil focused at journeys feet,

cemetery rows beckon me.

Through the halls by doors when one is open

new rooms form as the last hath closen.

Each hand trembles as four hearts stand frozen.

A grip of death, a race from closeness.

Float from floor through the school

ran from nite, darkness shrewd

into the void, the river grew

my depths go deeper in somber blue.

A thrust of rain with ill content

I once was lost so my mind then went.

And the skies I aim to climb

to all the levels, within all the tides.

It swished and swashed against the glass

then people came–buildings amassed:

the mall, the store, and funeral home,

from arena, parks, and sewers shown,

the grave, the houses, and the woods.

To where I ran, they all stood.