A poem about a dream I've had twice, very vivdly

This was written on Saturday, March 04, 2006 it was about a dream I had twice that was so vivid, the oppression so real that it stayed with me for days, and also, helps explain why I like guns, just kidding, but really....

But these flowers.... Dark and steep the hill is, very dark. The going is not too hard, I hold my sword at the ready, wary, so very wary, this is not safe, oh so very dangerous. Someone once believed he felt safe because he could not see his enemy, till a wise man said “It is because I can’t see him that I fear my enemy.” So true, so true. Here it is, here we are, we barely see, the hill is so very dark. Everything is so gray and dark. The hill levels off into a forest that crowns its head. It’s so dark. Slowly forward we crawl, weapons ever in front, faces behind the shield, this enemy is unknown, but felt, oh is he felt. The awful presence, the tension, building, building ever so much; alone I am now. Bah, these flowers, these so bright yellow flowers. This, above all else, tells me something is wrong. Why the yellow? Everything is dark, so very dark….but these flowers…. There is a house, I can see it now. The house is dark, no candles, no fire, no movement. But this is the place. How do I know? Presence…can you not feel it? Suppressing force, weighing on me, on my soul. If only I could know my enemy, see him face to face, I would be unafraid. This tension, this breath before the yell, this silence before the storm, this prayer before the end... Circling, I wait, circling, around and around we go, and where I stop…there’s nothing, but I can feel it. It’s here, it’s all around, and it’s coming from this house; and these flowers….

Gives me the chills just to reread it...