subverting,plaguing the bedraggled
dregs of light
forcing the day,to submit
to the sombrely,masked prelude
of nights full fluent,meshing of shadows.
In these blackening hours
strange thoughts arise
surreal sensings,of something universally free out there
ageless spirit's at play,
perhaps the messenger's of dream's,
inaudible illustrators of fantasies's
on endless journey's to and from place's
I can only go on hoping,exist,and go on wishing,
to be granted,the afterlife discovery of.
© Patricia Wilde 20th December 2016