Within these bloody walls
rests a child sleeping
whose dreams keep him
safe from the terror
the pumping and throbbing of his world
may bring him.
It is his lullaby; he does not know this.
Nor he doesn’t know how unreal
His reality could be.
That I could not decipher
For I stand here outside
My sword in hand, my shotgun in another
driving away the many monsters
Of many other labyrinthine worlds.
Forever awake I hunt across the glades
Of rooms, valleys, cities, and cemeteries,
I shift to my liking to subdue
The screaming and crying
That stand in my way.
And in the chance that I rest
I drag in the window meat and carcass
Of both human and non-human
And like a parent
No, like a hero,
I save the day, the dreaming,
And I nurture
No, I train
The walls to be stronger
The throbbing to be harder
The pumping to be faster
To save the child asleep in his cage.
I take in his familiar face
Unfamiliar now by his shriveling skin.
Sometimes I wonder, should I wake him up?
Should I feed him the loot the cage is eating?
But I brandish the sword and turn on the sun
Forgetting the fear of dreaming
And seeing the child helplessly living.
For this prompt. The way this is related to the “Great Idea” isn’t that obvious, since this is a “twisting” of the prompt. Let’s just say it makes it negative: the persona tried to solve a problem; the solution seem to have worked for him, but it’s eating him alive.