As assured as the setting of the sun
and the ascension of Luna on high.
They return like hyenas of the savanna,
their malicious voices chittering and tittering.
Venomous with each inflection of their tongues,
squealing in impish delight as their words seep through.
Discomforting the soft covers draped over my exhausted form.
They are a primordial presence.
I know them all too well.
These treacherous phantoms of the past.
Old memories arisen back from the watery depths of consciousness,
brought forth to assail this aggrieved mind of mine
and drown me in the deluge of grief and sorrow.
Not unlike a vessel amidst the raging tempest of the sea,
I must bear this unwanted squall and wait out the storm.
Uttering only this silent hymn borne upon my heart.
Grant me silence.
Oh grant me peace.
Dispel this dirge they have woven
and so grant me
sleep.