The dream

Napowrimo #5

The dream 

In the vaulted corridor

Arm sconces came alight

As I was passing them

Leading me to a heavy door

Slightly ajar. I couldn’t see

Beyond the circle of light

I needed my two hands and shoulder 

To push open the door

As soon as I entered the chamber

Roman torches came alight

Revealing bare stone walls

There was no window 

It was empty of furniture

Saved for two huge wooden armoires

Filling the space from floor to ceiling

Intricately sculpted with horns of abundance

By the side of each one

A large iron-wrought key hanged on a hook

I got one it was as large as my hand

Inserted the key in the byzantine lock

And turned the key

The door opened by itself

As the sound of a thousand flowers 

Singing filled the chamber

Enchanting chorus of pure voices

Rising in the cold air of the night

My heart and soul were at peace

Somehow I could single out each voice

As my eyes could see each vibrant corolla

All was harmony I was mesmerised 

How long I stayed there I don’t know 

Minutes, hours, days 

Nothing to indicate the span of time 

The music was eternal

Only the cold seeping from the stone floor

Stopped my ecstatic pleasure 

I slowly closed the door of the armoire

Thus shutting off the heavenly harmony

Returned the key to its hook

The cold seemed to intensify 

With the shivering of the torch flames

Although there was no breeze

I turned to the second armoire

Took the key and inserted it

In the lock nothing happened 

I had to open the door by myself

A world of silence opened

On thousands of China dolls 

Dressed in historical costumes 

Of silk, satin, velvet and delicate lace

With gold and silver embroidery 

Met my delighted eyes

I was lost in contemplation 

Trying to decide which one I preferred 

Slowly so slowly it took me some time

To realise that each doll opened its eyes

The weight of each fixed glassy orb

Be it blue, green, violet, grey or brown

Became so  overpowering 

That the original pleasure  

Morphed into discomfort 

Was it my imagination 

Telling me the dolls were alive

I shut the door blocking the smiles

Lifting the corners of their mouths

Double locking the lock

I stood there trembling 

Breathing heavily 

Waking up on my bed

All bedding on the ground.

Lucette C. Bailliet 

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