In the dark of night they come,
a presence felt, though barely seen
fleetingly.
Whispers in the ear,
a soft name called,
breaking the shallow slumber in dread.
Shadows
invade the mind, give rise to the unease,
lurking constantly, always close.
The grim burden of life’s passage
sapping what little strength remains.
In tiredness begins the day,
another day.
The body follows its routines,
legs pushed on by the eternal flow.
The mind wanders, drifting endlessly,
the coming night a foreboding weight.
The torment never far from the inner eye,
a reality more certain than that which is real.
A life of days and nights
spent hiding,
from the scantily veiled truth.
Dark feelings never to be shaken,
the facade not cloaking the bleakness lying within.
No escape.
How could he escape?
These demons of his own creation,
moulded by his own hand.
All that he knows,
all that he can carry with him,
as he closes his eyes, and lets his darkness in.