Beats of the Subconscious

A fruitless tree,

Bare, dead,

Stands alone in a field of graves.

Where no flowers grow,

No touch of light,

An eternal darkness surrounds it.

Pale children play in the field,

Sunlight is foreign to them.

They dance between gravestones,

Moving to the unheard music.

Silently gliding through the few blades of grass,

No sound, not even a wisp of wind.

A face…so familiar,

His eyes…pure lilac.

He does not play,

He hears no music,

His thoughts are drifting away.

He stands there all alone,

No flowers near his feet.

I've missed him so much,

His features still clear in my mind.

I reach out to touch his face,

And I open my eyes.