Melas Oneiros
by MELISSA COOK
They tore my wings like zephyr
-and I; I sat upon that one
abstract oleander..
Disorientated
between the cold air
and a stale dream catcher;
whos webs antique
toward my thoughts of savior.
With each petal
to deteriorate ‘neath me
I wrote of unstoppable fires.
Never to move from
a single thorn
-only to feel somber-
and I held that stem for;
eighteen years
until dipped into an abyss
painting violent butterflies
-from memory-
worried they would re-appear
like the many nights
I curled ‘neath raindrops
frozen as stone;
detaching myself from
a trust I never knew.
and he, he thrashed
as if violent weather…
Slipping through cracks
to find myself spun
-unable to reach you-
*Melas oneiros also known as Epiales was the Greek spirit of nightmares. The term “Melas Oneiros” translates to “black dream”