The Dream from Long Ago

What is this?

This was one of my very first attempts at a free verse poems. I hate free verse poems. I need some form of structure. But I was in a position where I had to write one.  I wrote about my first memory though that is quite obvious from reading it. It was written 2/09/08

The Dream from Long Ago

When ever I see a sunny day, cloudily sky, or snowy field I remember

I remember back to long ago, to far long ago

Before I learned to sing, to walk, to jump, to run or even to play.

I remember long all the way back to my very first memory.

 

A dream it was if my memory will allow me to remember

Happened at about the age of four well at least that was the age I awoke

I was small and young and in my crib and all was dark,

Flash goes that blinding light before all returns to night

I open my eyes to see but all is dark but not for long

 

Soon small little balls of light fill the darkness and the float around,

These balls of light seem to play and have fun as they bounce across the room.

Quickly though they change their little forms and because something new

They transmorthasized into what seems to be little people.

 

The little ghost they appeared to look like then like their ball counter parts floated   .   all about the entire room,

Suddenly though they all changed direction and hovered towards me

They all seemed to be in their own little words doing different things

Some were looking like they were dancing, others singing

But they all were the same in height of two inches tall

 

The ghost all had strangers faces but over year latter I would recognize a quite a

few of them

There was really two groups of them the older ones and the younger

As I would age I found the older ones mentors and friend of the other

To describe them all would take forever but all are remembered clearly

 

One was wearing a suit and was stand up arms reached out and waving

Another was sitting, had glasses, a sweater and held out a comic book towards me

For another one though he looked like a clown hair sticking out while having,

small tiny hands

Then there was an old women ineradicable short with eyes like an owl’s

All of these were some of the mentors seen

 

The friend later met on the other hand were much younger and different

One was tall and seemed strong but was standing hunched staring at the ground

Another was sitting with red hair and seemed to be juggling balls of paper

To describe a final friend they were doing flips and were dancing

 

Bark bark bark

Very suddenly out of now where a very small dog like ghost came up to the crib

It sat for a second but leaped through the bars and then leaped back out

From there it jumped around as if it wanted to play

Then all the little ghost and dog included faded away fairly quick

 

The perspective had changed and out the window was seen

Beyond those plains of glass what hunts me every day was there

Five different angels whose faces like that of the ghosts’ would be known

These though not the faces of mentors or friends but that of true loves

All seemed so noble it was hard to believe that they were all real

 

From that point all then faded to black but the faces of all were still known

Next that would happen is two other different dreams but they were meaningless

One with great large bear and a hat, while the other had a great beast on my arm

Finally before I awoke at age 4 I saw all my real memories then after,

They came as flashes very quickly and seemed like they were really the dreams.

 

Now then I awoke and my life then had started

New things then happened and year and year would go bye bye

But I always still remember that one room full of the Angels and Ghosts

For I see them all around me and never can forget.

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Please Leave Comments and or Critizims 1 comment

Doug Turner Jr. 5 years ago

Hmm, interesting. I love the concept for this, and I understand your struggles outside of a set format. The idea is here, I just think this needs a cleaver taken to it -- to be edited down to a clipped, slightly infantile, frenetic pace to symbolize our thought processes at a young age. There is simply too many words here. But again, awesome idea for a poem.

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