Sunday, October 24, 2010


Shrouded in darkness,
Black shroud of darkness,
silence enfolds her.
No light,
just darkness...
and never ending.
Solitude a lover,
that never leaves her bed.
By candlelight and moonlight,
Black as pitch,
dreams written as vivid reality.
An unending script of madness encircling brain and body without edit.
And such is the dream...
Red-hot embers that glow like end of night's fire,
sparks release into midnight,
In visions he sees her, a distant dream,
He wakes in the middle of the night in cold sweat,
his succubus in the late night hours,
ever beckoning to draw him nearer,
siren to his satyr.
Ghosts in the moonlight,
rumpled sheets,
and sticky sweet,
her lips press to his in an open mouthed embrace of ecstasy.
Voices in unheard language and and other tongues,
speak in rhymes and sonnets in his ear at dawn.
Her nails in his back,
cutting crevices and tracing muscle along imaginary roads.
She is his dream, his muse and his madness.
He wakes from his dream,
turns to the silence that lays beside him,
and reaches into nothingness.
She wakes from her dream,
and turns to touch the empty place beside her.


  1. I do so like this very much. It reminds me of something I wrote many years ago.

    This post has the poem pasted in twice.(?)

    So tell me what you've seen.... :)

  2. I've seen many things... at times too much; and at others; not enough.

    "I've seen life, and death...and the bridge in between..."