When I was but a boy, of roughly twelve
I dreamed that I was at a sort of “Y”
Where two roads turned to one, beside some fields,
And I was in the middle of the road

I looked toward some scraggly trees ahead
And saw a flash of light out on the range
A fire cloud go up in mushroom shape
And flattened down awaiting what came next

The shockwaves blasting, tearing overhead
A thousand screaming voices in my ears
The terror, knowing all I loved were gone
And I, a trembling child, to face my death

I woke in horror, sweating and in pain
And two more times, I dreamed this dream again;
The world we all lived in, when I was young –
A fear we would do well to not forget

= = = = =

DAILY PROMPT

Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)