And then all of a sudden
it strikes upon the witching hour.
The whole building is dark and quiet,
and if I concentrate hard enough…
all the ghosts of the past seep out from within my head
and wander the halls.
Ghosts that are lingering ever so faintly beyond my bed, unmade.
Linen scattered across the floor far from organised fashion.
It feels as though i’m cursed for all my past transgressions,
cursed for fealty sworn unto myself.
These ghosts will never fade, and these nights will never lift.
But it’s now that I find peace,
in the stillness of the night.
it’s been like this forever.
And feel as though it forever will.
How I sometimes long not for morning,
but for tomorrows first light.

N.H.