A house full of spectres,
a mouth full of rye,
left out in the darkness,
someone will cry.

death was a reason,
tears were for show,
once out of the bottle,
these spectres wont go.

In the swirling tempest she waits,
a spirit held in reverent patience and abandoned solace.
Just as it was always meant to be,
her ice cold hands reach out,
pulling me in to the unknown,
a void so willingly embraced.

Sanity for sanity's sake,
insane for the sane,
sane for the insane.

love once roamed freely within this hollow room,
now these walls confine me,
like an ancient, lost tomb,
tears flow, like blackened rain,
spirit in turmoil, head hung in shame.
I watch my breath through the stale, thin air,
as the ropes shadow beckons,
upon the cold wooden chair.

© H V Swan

Crawling through hoops made of pain,
standing tall in claustrophobic spaces,
Seeing through eyes, that see through eyes,
Taking on forms that transcend consciousness,
Retreat to warmth,
Ice cold,
Seek Journeys end.

No moon tonight,  only the depths of a fathomless darkness, pitched black,
and in such bleak emptiness, the sound of the swirling wind becomes my focus,
whistling through the trees, rattling gates and fences, skimming rooftops,
strange noises as if the nights very teeth were chattering with fright.
Now, the warmth of bed becomes my sanctuary, sheets pulled over a weary head,
yet within such secure confines, the nights rampant breath punctuates my slumber,
sounds of ghostly whispers carried on ethereal waves, names of ones long since departed.  
Sleep eludes the hypnotic lure of the ticking clock, yearning for the distant glow of morns new light.

When the rain falls we see it’s beauty, we feel its warmth,
the sound it makes soothes our soul and we sink in to its sanctuary,
yet in transition when the storm strikes,  its mantel becomes dark and forbidding, its spirit reaps destruction and ice like shards cut us to the bone.
Rain will fall, but in the scape of our night sky do we dare to call on its name ?.