What Morpheus brings

I dream of dark seas and the wind howling down from the edge of a cliff. Trees around me are bending under its force, leaves flying in the darkness. Rain is whipping ancient ruins and thunder is rumbling in the distance, illuminating the freakishly beautiful landscape. A magnificent silver ship is dancing in the sea, like a precious toy. The moon hides and the night never ends. 

I dream of jet black horses running wild in violet-coloured fields next to crimson rivers at the foot of an impossibly high mountain that casts its shadow to all the land. Eagles are flying over my head without flapping their wings. 

I dream of nooses hanging from the branches of old trees that still echo the last agonising breaths of people who hung there. Of the tears that fell on the ground as their loved ones watched them die, unable to save them. 

Of bombed cities I dream, of buildings whose purpose remains unknown, of institutions like banks and committees and corporate responsibility organisations. Their definitions can now only be found in ancient dictionaries.  

I dream of foggy ruins at dawn, of magnificent chandeliers where spiders have now made their webs, shining like jewels in the mist. Of stone-carved fireplaces that haven’t seen glowing embers for a very long time. Poisonous plants now grow around them and birds have built their nests in there. The slightest movement makes dust fly around like a whisper.