The capsule

I saw a dream
In which I was shown
A concoction being brewed
The lady who steered
The contents of the pot
Looked as if she had
Met with the reaper of souls
Twice already and was
A good friend of his.

She called me over
With a pleasant wave
And said to me,
“I see that you are not well
The past few days
Haven't been your best
You strive to sleep
And struggle to eat
Your one purpose
In life right now
Is to empty your head
That seems to have become
A bed filled with thoughts
Not of the living but
Off the dead.”

I looked at her
And realised not
When my head had moved back and forth
In plain agreement
This made her lips curl up
As she reached into
Her dirty robe
And pulled out a bottle
A bottle small enough
To fit inside my palm.

She then immersed her bare hand
Into the boiling cauldron
And filled the vial
With a blood red potion.

The potion of love
She called it
As she handed it to me
She placed her hand
On my chest and smiled
I awoke with her touch
And discovered the
Potion still in my palm.

I stared at it long and hard
How could ingesting this
Make all my problems go away I thought
Nevertheless I twisted open
The top and inhaled a whiff
It reminded me of the
Best scents that had ever
Made their way to my
Senses of smell.

A moment later I got onto my feet
And made my way to the garden
And in one go
Emptied the vial
At the root of a
Pomegranate tree
Which I adored.

And then
In an instant
The tree that had flourished
Over the years and had
Bore fruit for me
Decayed as if the sorrows
Of a thousand failed lovers
Had cracked down upon it
It shriveled as
The leaves dried dead and
The fruits turned to dust.

If I have learnt one thing
In the short span of time
Which I have spent
Dwelling on this earth
It is not to trust
Or to have faith
No matter how beautiful
Or what the promise is
It is a sin
Bigger than the rest
The potion of love she had said
Where in fact
It was
The venom of death.

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