Satan’s Nightmares

Satans Nightmares prose poem

Photo by Sam-Cat

The grass is a little greener and diamonds
are made not of coal but a fabric the earth
mother sews up, as the stars burn into a little
pinch of ash that rains upon the thirsty One
* * *
hell is a temple to happiness
* * *
All existence is delirium
the cows are mad and the horses are mad
the mad books written by the maddest of
souls speak of a corner tucked in the brain
that is utterly, totally, magnificently mad,
the songs are mad, the government is mad
the mad farmer sows his mad seed before
he joins the circle of mad people in the madhouse,
as they ponder over the difference between a raven
and a writing desk forevermore and the mad monk
sways under the storm screaming asteroids into himself,
his body is made of the moon
* * *
The sky is whispering to a rapturous bird
there is a secret hidden among the leaves of all stories
it bursts into rain with the need to be told,
the secret is in the flight of the butterfly,
in bubbles blown out of soap ,
in the immortal sun that all stories revolve around
and the secret is to listen, to listen,
to listen

Rate the poem
1 Star2 Stars3 Stars4 Stars5 Stars (1 votes, average: 3.00 out of 5)
We are posting your rating...

Have something to say about the poem?

Profile photo of Deatheaten


Signup / Login to follow the poet.
20, Indian, English Major. Just getting out of the Second Existentialist Crisis.
Poems you will love

Give your feedback / review for the poem

Be the First to Comment & Review poem!

Notify of

Day Dreams Turning Into Nightmares

Day Dreams Turning Into Nightmares short poem

Never thought it would turn this deep Once a friend and now love him indeed Thought he likes me too but got to be proved wrong Wish my heart could have been that strong Suddenly he told me he likes

3 am Sees My Nightmares

3 am Sees My Nightmares short poem

Doubt surrounding The air regret fuelling The hurt While sadness radiates Around the heart My soul fights to Remain untainted but Yet I still feel Chained from the past only Because at the Dawn of Wake My Suffering Eradicates Exclusive


Nightmares prose poem

Our souls felt cold, and our hearts were dry That was the day my family began to die Though by God’s grace, we did survive, We could not resist asking him why Our lovely daughter met an older guy who