No Bad Dreams?

The road that bisected the valley

ran at the base of our hill

Up the other side lay Wintermere

named for cold abuse in hidden places

Only seen upon Serena’s face

She lies dead and ruined by that force

casualty of alcoholic times

Rancid laughter echoes from the porch

Shakespeare could have drawn witches from there

Letting this out at this time’s indulgence

Luther never knew

We steel ourselves and pray for heaven

to fix it all

Nothing ever happens as it seems

And in the end

no bad dreams?