There is a fear that dances deep within the soul
of every ghost prowling in the darkness.
I wander- a phantom in the night-
aimless in the pursuit of light
fearful of the dawn that might approach
Running this way and that through the graveyard of dreams.
The clock strikes twelve. A howling-
wind blows and chills the last living pieces
of Humanity that live within me.
I know that a ghost can only exist if there is
a memory of a once living soul-
the remains of a play thing
for daemons that had too much fun in the night.
Gnarled trees with snake like vines strangling their trunks
provide me with an illusion of safety- something to hide behind.
What am I running, hiding from?
Fear of dawn, fear of night- existence is blight.