Voices In the Night
They wake me sometimes.
Names, nonentities
come out of the corners like leftover pipe smoke,
jerking at my slumber,
scratching at the soft circles
I draw around my head.
Spirits, pardon me;
I am a dense dreamer!
Transfer of consciousness slows down
when aging dashes on.
Inner sound and psychic sense
don't mingle very well.
Yet they persist;
their whispers inarticulate, seductive
for my mind, surreal--
breaking up my memories in fragments,
bringing recollection only in a later dream,
then never with a reason why.
And I may reason why,
convoke these shades
just as I cry to you
that I, too, reach with hollow hands
across the bridge of consciousness
until I die,
and travel on the edge of time.
I think that they are teaching me--
these voices. Systematically
in silent, restless throbbing they prepare me,
their own strength gaining as mine wanes.
I think they watch, like tower control
upon the homing planes.
I think they know
to what stupendous realm I go.
~
Copyright © Robert Ludden | Year Posted 2013
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