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Nightmare















The cradle of life swings back and forth.
These torturing memories I silently recall.
A taste of sudden fear, to numb my sins.
Violently eager, to conquer my whims.

Capturing the moment with a fluttering blink,
Flushing out blight, to rise from the weak.
Paper hands made from sturdy oak trees,
A core so strong, it defeats the disease.

Haunted dreams, uneasy and unwell,
Afraid to wake up, too scared to dwell.
A rusted watch to tell the broken time,
The wrath of Cronos echoes his prime.

Lucidly walking into the unknown,
Facing the void, yet still all alone.
A final wish to live a heartbeat,
Revived in spirit, I rise to my feet.


Mike Tragas
2024/09/25
Chania, Greece

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