About This Author
My name is Joy, and I love to write.
Why poetry, here? Because poetry uplifts its writer, and if she is lucky enough, her readers, too. Around us, so many objects abound to write about. Once a poet starts with a smallest, most trivial object, he shall discover that his pen will spill out what is most delicate or most majestic hidden inside him. Since the classics sometimes dealt with lofty subjects with a lofty language, a person with poetry in his soul may incline to emulate that. That is understandable. Poetry does that to a person: it enlarges the soul and gives it wings. Yet, to really soar, a poet needs to take off from the ground.
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Everyday Canvas #938095 added July 16, 2018 at 2:52pm Restrictions: None
Just a Nightmare or Is It?
Prompt: Why do you think nightmares happen and what is your scariest nightmare that you can remember?
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A nightmare is a dream gone wrong, mostly as the result of stress during the day. Some dream researchers assume that nightmares help people through traumatic life problems.
Some nightmares repeat in one form or another. When this happens, it is a good idea to figure out what the elements of the nightmare may represent, especially if there is no medical condition or if the medications, drugs or alcohol are not causing this problem.
The scariest nightmare I can recall happened only once, and it was so real that, to this day, I am not sure what happened really didn’t happen.
One night about a few years ago, in the middle of the night, I opened my eyes feeling a presence in the bedroom. I then saw a very thin man, possibly nine or ten feet tall, bending over me from the side of the bed. He was totally blue. His skin, clothing, hands, everything. Not light or very dark blue but something like royal blue and glowing. He literally glowed in the dark.
I was scared and I screamed. His face suddenly grew very sad and he moved back. I felt bad for his feeling bad, but I was terrified out of my wits, too. So, I let out another scream and sat up in bed. My husband woke up immediately. “What happened?” he asked. I looked at him but couldn’t talk.
So I turned my head again to point to the tall blue man, but he had disappeared. To tell the truth, I don’t think he meant any harm. I think he was just watching me or something.
When I told my husband, he insisted that it had been a nightmare, but I was sure I had been awake the whole time. I guess the mind can play tricks on a person or I had some kind of a supernatural experience.
In the long-ago past, I may have had a few disturbing dreams about relationships or whatever, but they had never scared me to the degree of this nightmare.
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