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Cassandra’s dream

Gerald.  My Gerald, my boy.

I seem to wake on this snowy night, and, my boy, my little boy, you are deeply asleep, but you float in my room.  You are a balloon boy on a string, and, bumbling against the ceiling, you drift toward my open window….why?  why? did I leave it so?

I grab onto your string….ah!  my little boy!…..but you are taken fast out into the night.

I climb out quickly,  something is tugging you away, away.  I hold fast onto your lifeline, and run stumbling out into the cold white.

A seething throng, out of the birch forest, all pale, all living death, all grasping with bony hands, all floating, has come to take you.  

They pull, they pull, they sighingly say you belong with them.

Gerald, your eyes open and you are in fear, my son.

How comes this visitation?   What have I done?

My dear dear boy.  My life.

Lee Dunn View All

Lee Dunn has been writing since the age of 18, but found that work got in the way for the ensuing 48 years. In his home town of Toronto, Ontario, Canada, he reveled in his independence at an early age, and spent as much time as he could exploring the city’s Arts scene. He was introduced to poetry and prose by the works of two literary giants, namely J.R.R. Tolkien and J.W. Lennon and thence fell in love with the written word. His work includes poetry, short fiction, and personal essays, and ranges in theme from the surreal to the horrific, nostalgic, and themes on the human condition. He has been published on Spillwords.com, The Dark Poets Club, Journal of Undiscovered Poets, Crepe & Penn Literary magazine, and the Shelburne Free Press.

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