Last Night, Death Came

A strange thing happened this morning.  Firstly, I awoke to that horrible feeling that creeps over you after having had a nightmare.  In this nightmare, my friend had died and it felt as if I had spent the entire night grieving her loss, with my mum comforting me.  As tends to happen with dreams, the memories and images of it started fading pretty quickly, but the sick feeling remained.  The second thing that happened, was that I went to tell my mum about my horrible nightmare, but when she saw me, before I could say a word, she said “Katy, I had a horrible nightmare last night that Jack (our dog) died.”  My mum rarely dreams or has nightmares, so needless to say we both thought it was rather creepy that we had both dreamt of death on the same night.

I find that because I read a lot of fantasy books (and quite possibly also due to my over-active imagination), I’m prone to start conjuring supernatural scenarios when this sort of thing happens.  I imagined death as a shadow passing through town inspecting all the houses and plaguing dreams as it stalked the night.  I saw it come right through our house, carefully scrutinising each inhabitant for signs of weakness and frailty, ready to hungrily seize us at the slightest scent of vulnerability.

Having realised that I’ve spent a lot of time lately writing about writing, I thought it might be a good idea to do some actual writing and put my over-active, albeit sinister, imagination to good use.  A short, and pretty rough, poem was the result of this wild, untamed resolution.  I might just add here, that even though this is the second poem I’ve posted on here (the first being Bones of the Wicked), I’m not actually a poetry writer.  I’m not sure what makes a poetry writer, but I’m fairly certain I’m not one.  I rarely read it and more rarely write it.  But alas, a poem is what came to me today and so a poem is what I wrote, so forgive me for that.

Image courtesy of

Last Night, Death Came

The sun set early,
A shadow rose.
Last night, death came,
To seize its foes.

The moon shone dimly.
The air was still.
Last night, death came,
To haunt. To kill.

Our dreams, it haunted,
With screams and cries.
Last night, death came.
I longed to rise.

When morning came,
Death faded fast.
Last night, death came.
Last night, death passed.

~storytelling nomad~

13 comments on “Last Night, Death Came

    • Sometimes it really does seem that way. I’ve always been a bit scared of poetry because I know nothing about it and I dread someone coming along saying something like “you have to have five lines in a stanza!”. Or some High School English class will come to mind with a bunch of letters looking like this: A, B, A, A, B, and I can’t remember what it all means but I’m sure I’m missing out on some important rule I’m supposed to follow! Did I mention poetry scares me?

  1. That must have been a little strange. But there is a good chance if you think about it that you both watched the same TV program or talked about something together which set this dream synchronisation going. Hopefully it isn’t an omen… Great poem by the way!

    • I’ve always been interested in dreams and how they are affected by what happens during the waking hours. It is very possible that we both discussed or saw something that got us both going, but none that I can think of now. I hope it isn’t an omen too! The first thing I did when I woke up was check that my friend was okay!

  2. I very much like your poem–it’s very good!

    I hate when nightmares creep in. I don’t have them very much but they always unnerve me when they do. I have a writer friend on dA who turns her nightmares into some amazing stories, so I guess some good things can come from them.

    I’d like to write more poetry than I do, personally. Just because I enjoy all forms of writing–even those that challenge me~

    • Thank you! You know, I was just talking to someone recently about dreams and nightmares making for good stories. It’s like your mind tapping into the unconscious for some really good material!

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