What poketh me
From warm, homely dreams?
Shiv’ry vines sprawl across flimsy covers
Icy pale fingers, plaguing the joyous
Alcoves of bright-eyed, idealistic youth
Ghostly whispers permeate ears of mine
And start pulling me toward the windowsill

Nought save for pitch black blinders sealed my eyes
Whereto shadows come and shroud the earth
Thoughts fill the air with a resonant sigh
Hark! But not e’en the stirring of a crow
Perchance the world is but a living dream

The hanging coat takes on a ghostly form
The nightstand morphs into a velvet hill
Piles of books are the hilltop castle
Shadows dance so slowly across the room
The world changed in the mist of pale moonlight

My thoughts, hushed and calm, sweet lullaby
Undulating waves of tranquility
Drift to the morrow anon.