The Dove Is No Creature

-The Dove Is No Creature-
by Keaton Foster



Whisper close
Quiet most
Nothing true
Lies invade
This mind
Telling tales
Waking me up
Fearing myself
Above all else
I cannot sleep
Exhaustion is real
Everything else
Increasingly fake
In a field of none
In my dream of less
Stands a solemn tree
Crooked, it may be
Tortured and twisted
It does indeed seem
In perpetuity
Always will it be
Upon a branch
Midway up
Sits a dove
White
Pristine
Precise
Is such plumage
Perfect
Is such a shape
Flawlessly living
Perilously existing
Every darkness
Resides within its eyes
Blackened jewels
In my tedious world
Of many absolutes
It makes no sound
There it just sits
Watching all of this
Waiting judgement
To be spent
Higher still
There is another creature
Ghastly it’s features
No animal known
But be certain
It is a beast grown
Beyond control
Beyond role
There it waits
For a mistake
A falter of being
In my mind
Through my spine
The whitest of dove
Has become God
In my heart
Through my gut
The other creature
Not quite known
Is all that God
Is not
In this dream
In my mind
Not bound
Either says a thing
Either acknowledges
Any other
They just sit there
So clear
Looking out
Into forever’s bosom
Seeing me
And my misdeeds
One holds account
The other harbors
A grudge
Both seek meaning
Both embrace reason
All here
All created
Understand
In a field
Of None
In a dream
Of less
Stands
A tree
Each branch
Bent
The trunk
Scarred
The roots
Run quite deep
All around
Close
And as far
As can be
Is nothing
So it does seem
Darkness
Upon blackness
Mired as one
The dove of white
Pure in truth
It’s eyes
Emptiness devised
The darkest of pools
Swirling loose
Calling me close
Drawing me in
Making me relent
The other creature
Ghastly such features
It knows
Understand all
Omits nothing
Judgment
All and both
Created by me
Upon the ground
There I be
There I remain
Looking up
Wondering
As I must
Why are both there
What do they mean
This dream comes
Each night
Invading my sleep
Waking me up
With a scream
Leaving me pacing
Facing
What is not known
With what has been created
This mind, a prison
Such Ideas, an affliction
Thus
The night will come
The dream will remain
What could it mean
What will happen
I don’t know
How could I
And that
Above all else
Troubles me most…



Written by Keaton Foster Copyright © 2008-2018