Hollow
What phantasmal shadows have before my visage flown? Spectres fleeting, heart shards fled into the abyss of night. This precipice upon which I teeter yaws wide beneath feet ungrounded, clutching desperate at bosom rent and shattered. Poor shadows all, perhaps fevered dreams, vapor beneath questing fingers. Burning passions swallowed up in absence, body swathed in void. That longing which lingers, taunts with laughter empty. A reminder of figments once called 'lover' memories of hands fiery gone cold as ash. O maddened heart, cease and be still, no whirling dervish are you, but a poor fool deluded by grandeur and fantasy. Be still and remember let delve deep twisted root, fly not into the expanse for fancy, nor delusion. Hush now thou crazed spirit, struggle not and rage no more. Be still, be sill, and let whispers scream howling, echoed across the solitude. And know only the company of ghosts.
Copyright © Dawne Crumpler | Year Posted 2017
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