A Ticket Home

By: Chelsea Brown

 

My pillow is the threshold of Home,

Playing a soft and low melody resembling a chilly night by the fire.

Welcome back, it whispers, It’s been awhile.

And in almost an instant, I’m sinking back to my fantasy, treading through a river of silver.

 

My dreams resemble towers that surpass the clouds,

A tunnel that stretches for miles without end, and an angel’s last breath.

When I open my eyes, I won’t be met with an empty ceiling and clutter on the floor,

But a sky full of stars, reaching as far as the bare eye can see.

 

In my dreams, I have flowing hair that runs down to the small of my back,

And earrings forged from pure earth and metal that bends at my will.

With the slight wave of a hand, entire buildings could collapse,

Or sprout ethereal colosseums from gravel as if it were just a budding flower.

 

I can finally meet my friends in my dreams;

The ones I’ve only been able to see through a thin film. 

We dance under the moonlight for hours, talking about nothing and everything,

And how long it’s been since we’ve been together like this.

 

However, time always seems to run out in my dreams.

“Stay any longer, and you’ll forget where you belong,” The ground shakes.

Protesting never does any good, and my soul involuntarily parts from my body,

Forcing me to greet my empty ceiling once more.