Wraith

Wraith

It silently drifts just beyond my sight,
Its frigid fog fingers upon my heart;
A mist that inhumes all visible light,
A curtain that veils an infernal night,
And rends my life's stoic ramparts apart.

Upon rising from chthonic realms to drift,
In humble non-presence near my dark shore,
It seeks to deliver its somber gift,
Chameleon cold and quicksilver swift,
And seal it in shadow forevermore.

An offering dark, a red golden ring,
A burnished bright prize with a simple tole --
Mere bending of knee will secure the thing,
But human homage to the shadow king,
Is homicide of my eternal soul.

Heartbeat a-drumming in both of my ears,
I utter a prayer, my voice hoarse and low,
For freedom from perilous haunting fears,
And suddenly wake, to wonder at tears,
That gratefully saturate my pillow.

Mick McKellar
February 2013

Dark visions haunt us from time to time, and for some those shadows dance in the darkness of our deepest dreams. Perhaps it is simply the process of the human mind, sorting through days full of bad news, awful news, and the evening news. Lord knows, there are vast opportunities to dwell on mankind's inhumanity, on those ever present pockets of darkness pooling alongside human footprints upon our global home. Realms where, unsated by our bloody banquet, we find new and creative ways to snatch away the gifts of life and liberty from our fellow travelers. Little wonder such mischief would darken the dream dance of the slumbering mind.

Still, in my most haunting dreams, when sinister radiance in umbrage gleams, and nothing could be as bad as it seems; I'm swept from the comfort of peaceful sleep, and swept into waters cold, murky, and deep. Aware that danger hovers near, threatening something or someone dear, I recognize the face of my fear. I silently pray for grace with my tears, and hug my damp pillow, free from fears.

The wraiths that dance in the darkness of dreams, die in the brilliant light of love.

Mick