Morning

The wind howling like an angry wolf
Above, the dark clouds swirling violently
My nightmare carrying me
Its fiery mane licks my face
Its red eyes glow like hot cinders
Snorting fire it gallops, no harness to hold onto
Faster I’m carried along the razor’s edge
Darkness on both sides, wanting to swallow me
Screams from the blackness call me
My nightmare’s black body runs without tiring
Suddenly, a door lined with light appears ahead
Crashing through, splinters piercing me I wake
Familiar sights, my dresser, my window
Sweating, I sit up
In the distance, an eerie echo of a horse neighing
Waiting for another ride, but not now,
Dawn has come and it is now
Morning

by Michael Macaulay

Other poems of MACAULAY (1)

Comments (1)

These images hit me harder than you might expect. As a firefighter and poetry fan, I am well aware of the power of the fire image. You handle it masterfully. I like the rest of the poem too.