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Dec 2016
Death and i converse in the midst
of 3:00am's darkness: the witching hour,
when the veil between this world
and the Abyss grows thinnest.

the Endless approach, swift as quicksand
in an hourglass, silent as a shade
on a moonless eve. they whisper
in tongues mortals cannot speak.

Insomnia's embrace is cold as hoarfrost,
a lost soul looking over my shoulder.
Time wonders, "when you lie alone,
do you hope you don't wake up?"

Morpheus leaps
from the pages of the Sandman,
a phantom from my nightmares,
cloaked in flame and shadow.

"rest easy, friend,"
the King of Dreams
says to me.
"there would be no hell without Hope."
Apparently, I have been reading too much of Neil Gaiman's saga, "The Sandman."
Pearson Bolt
Written by
Pearson Bolt  Ⓐ
(Ⓐ)   
  797
     ryn, SabreLi, naǧí, yuki and Keith Wilson
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