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To the Demon of Dreams I Say

There are new shadows in this forest,

Standing straight, all leg-bone angles

Nothing stirs and nothing creeps

Between the blades of dark, though

I have seen many a furtive movement

Behind the lids of shut-tight eyes

And heard the mellow whisper

Of the Warden in my dreams.

Wherefore came you, Stranger? Where now treads

A silent stepper, slinking from the sunken spaces

Between the fragile seconds, beneath these

Speckling drops of hourglass dust – I would make

A friend of thee,

Even if your name means death

Spoken in some vile and twisting tongue

My jaws could never break to speak.

Haunt me, Wraith –

Stalk me, O Specter –

But this once-bright soul begs you,

Do not leave me lonesome, for fear

Is still the firmest friendship I have known,

And this shadow slipping soft-foot

Twixt the milky beams,

He bears my face alone.


© 2022 Jacob Steven Mohr. All Rights Reserved.


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