Every now and then, I have repeating dreams. I will have a dream that I remember for a time, but eventually forget. A few years later I will have the exact same dream, and remember that it has appeared before. Only a few dreams that I have ever had have been repeated, but they have showed up multiple times each.
A few years ago, I had three dreams that happened relatively close to each other. These three dreams all shared a common theme: myself fighting and killing a demon. These dreams each took place in a different point of history, from the civil war to far in the future. The dream set in the future is one of my repeating dreams.
After having the third one (I forget in what order they appeared), I decided to write them down, thinking that they might have some meaning. Soon after, I wrote a poem about them:
This is how the legend ends:
a snap and a twist, and back to clarity,
returning back to a world tainted with reality.
No more terrors of the night,
no more warriors against reality
no more seekers for clarity.
Brutish strength contained within muscles of rock
enormous beast of reality; the hero of the army.
The whistling sound of musket shot,
dreadful roar of hellish iron;
all drowned out by the burning screams along the line.
This is the language of the beast.
One man alone breaks from the ranks,
navy blue clashing with beast of grey.
Terrifying strength inhabits this monster,
yet it cannot live without bone and flesh.
Crimson bayonet strikes matched with eyes of icy fire.
The ground shakes as a demon loses its life.
Trickery and deception are all around,
as numerous as boulders in this crumbling town.
The streets are filled with both hope and despair,
as a regime topples to the ground,
its people fighting for what’s fair.
From the burning fires of revolution
flickers forth a wraith,
multiplying and shifting
to change this fate.
One alone sees this spirit
and closes with the apparition
with hair of tainted prosperity.
More foes than one,
outnumbered with no chance
this battle is almost done.
Yet with a firm grasp of hope,
fists find purchase and begin to choke.
The fires die out as a wraith loses its breath.
The future is dire,
assailed by beings of deception
who hide themselves from the light.
Trapped in a cave
huddled forms seek after this light,
never to be found,
dark of night.
One huddled form stands,
and bears his weapon.
Marching forward towards the light
he sets his trap,
among the terror and the lies
waiting for his time to strike.
One shot goes forth,
passing through the false reality.
Humanity rejoices as hell’s army loses its head.
This is how the legend starts:
a twitch and a sigh, visiting a world without clarity,
not held back by reality.
Welcome terrors of the night,
march on warriors of reality
bringing forth vicious clarity.
Bring it on,
demons hiding in the light.