Before sleeping tight,
I whisper his name
Trying to blow away my inner flame.
A daily ritual it has become,
No sleep comes if no name uttered,
And as Morpheus drags me to his home,
I see a thousand dead bodies,
Skeletons but all alive.
No dragon glass to kill them,
No swords to fight them,
Only corroding rocks lay by my side.
I pick up the rock
Only to find dust in my hand.
The dead come face to face,
Crawling, running, screaming
Step by step backwards..
I fall from a hill,
With a huge thunder sound I land on my bed.
Opening my eyes the white ceiling greets
With thunder, lighting ,rain outside my window.
What an unsuccessful attempt