The Dream

I hear a cry that
draws me into the dark
a child’s voice
in such pain I dare not
hesitate to check my gait

I rush forward across the
hall seeking who it may be
and beyond the door
bent over in agony a child

his face full of strife
as I fly to his side
ignoring a tall stranger
who grimaces at me

a sneer so full of anger
with the lashing belt incomplete
as I draw my rage against
his violent swing and catch it.

Surprise halts in midair
he looks first at me
then at the hurting child
and I gasp in utter disbelief

at the man I see. It is me.
It is really me.

© Richard L. Provencher