There has been quite the commotion regarding the notion of lucid dreaming
But I, Dr. Rodrick Edgar Moore have not found reason to subscribe to such notions
As I have never dreamt, in a manner concerning R.E.M. sleep, nor have I seen these so-called nightmares
In my thirty one year not once has a night been filled with ghastly impressions of fantasies during slumber
People claim that I have an ill disorder or simply I do not remember what I’ve seen…folly I say
For my mental intellect is unmatched by any other cerebral scholar, and my memory, photographic, as one to guess
There I proceed that the world is riddled in an illusion when the moonlight shines, that I am forever exempt from
Although, I am curious of these nocturnal delusions in the hours that are nigh, in the hours that come with eerie sighs
The first night:
It happened! a phantasm occurred, it was strange…far more abstract than I would have anticipated
Let me think, white doves over a sapphire sea, seven stars and the words “follow me”
But, where I wondered, there was nowhere to go… the water became black and those doves…ravens
I saw nothing, then a scream….among the inferno I walked trudging this dismay
To wonder if I had died and if hell was my fate…the horror I saw faded a swiftly away,
Confused finding myself screaming, and to my surprise, the scream earlier was I, what’s more
The doves I envisioned before where at my window during my awake; am I still dreaming I wondered
The second night:
Again, I drifted into obscurity this time I was flying among the clouds and the sky
Defying gravity’s will upon me, beloved was this imaginary simulation made real, I viewed it all
The city Greece along with Verona, the streets of Rome where a maiden stood benevolent with scarlet hair
That burned akin to the essence of the sun, igniting my heart captivating this dream and a story yet to be told
Are you Hephaestus she asked of me, I replied, be I might be if you are my delicate flower known as Aphrodite
A lightning bolt struck the ground between us and I again awoke, My morning-after seemed overly mundane,
The colors of the trees as well as the hopeful sky were stained as bland, as I felt as if I had lost someone I loved
What are these dreams I did not believe existed I wondered,
How can something fictitious make me feel something so real, I looked at the world dumbfounded,
Slightly more so perplexed than amused, and there she was my muse, manifested, a deja vu
In the town square where I lingered to contemplate my worrisome thoughts,
She with her crimson locks smiled at me while standing under a statue dedicated to a Vulcan god
Fear flooded my soul, was this reality I inquired unto my own life, curse these dreams, I will sleep no more
The fifth night:
Exhaustion gave way, after two nights in a sleepless state my vigilant will crumble
Into a fable nightmare, I trudged paranoid to every visual furthermore to every sound
Time became hyperbolic, distorted, therefore edging as I in dismay… when am I, I implored
“Is when such a thing?” an omnipresent voice asked unto me,… “I believe so” I answered
“Why” it continued to question,… “because time is relevant” I whispered unto what was not
“Even in a dream Rodick?” it continued more… “Yes” I replied as I tried to identify this anomaly, this shade
We kept going for a while, it would ask and I would answer
I found myself looking into a mirror hollowed and plated gold, intelligently crafted, thus rare
Which revealed unto me a truth, for some time now I have been among the deceased, eons really
And what I perceived to be my life was in actuality dreams forged by the forgotten
From a maiden of red hair to the white doves that sat upon my window sill, all lies to cope with this eternity
Yet, what was to come, now that I realized the truth, that I perhaps may have already discovered herein this limbo
Reality for the dead is but a dream, and the symphony that plays in homage to said dream is a requiem
I am Dr. Rodrick Edgar Moore, and in my thirty-one years of life, I have never had what some would call a dream
10 thoughts on “Dr. Rodrick Edgar Moore”
Vivid. Interesting use of archaic language. To dream! Aye, there’s the rub!
‘Reality for the dead is but a dream, and the symphony that plays in homage to said dream is a requiem’.. this is so wonderfully vivid and deep!
Thank you for always reading and learning wonderful comments Sana!
I’m going to have to read it again and perhaps again. I’m still getting over the shock that what we live is the dream, that reality lies elsewhere. – that being the first impression anyway. It’s lyrical.
Love the strong sense of voice, the romantic era diction, and the Dantean imagery. An epic in a handful of stanzas!
Thank you Frank!
My pleasure, Ren’ee!
An interesting (and engaging) synthesis of poetics and victorian (?) storytelling. You read afar and this reads well as a consequence of that fact. Well done!
Thank you for reading! My writing style does have a Victorian element to it. I am influenced abit by that era.
A worthy era. …especially when you want to explore the scarier, more unusual sides of life. You do it well.