sleep sweeps near softly,
sipping at the lake of dreams.
gliding, drifting gently.
roses and strawberries and creams.
i have dreamt dreams that could make the strongest brute cry,
swiftly surpassing the ghouls or nightmarish fingers that flail.
but sweeter, than the gentle whisper of lost lovers as evening draws nigh,
than any glee procured by cakes and ale.
in my dream, i looked upon the lost souls of mankind.
watching as they killed and slaughtered.
as children decayed in the dust, eating anything they could find.
who are these that fall like flies?
while the rest of humanity shake their heads, refusing to realise.
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