Midnight sludge

 

In darkest dreams,

these corridors I trudge.

Walking frame

to help me budge.

I hear echoed screams,

clamouring for attention,

from deep

in the midnight sludge.

The strobe flickering

of emergency lights,

a darkened ward,

these fractured nights.

 

In darkest dreams.

Swirling threatening memories,

images blurred, ominous visions

mix with the absurdities.

The clock on the wall

hands circling backwards,

the darkness betraying the time.

The sounds of wailed cries.

all too real,

infest the sleeping mind.

 

In fever dreams

I see people I love

lose their fight,

I see my life

flash before my eyes.

In fever dreams

I hear my own mournful cries.

These dark wards,

where night after night

I watch the shadows

dance beside my bed.

These midnight wards,

where skeletal figures

silhouetted in the light

spread black wings 

and take flight.

 

Sleepaway, a castaway

on islands of terror, I lay.

The light, the tricks it plays

on eyes that don't see the day.

Just the hordes of demons,

hades' hellish visions

that walk these wards,

as the deep red blood pours,

and the screams wake the dead.

I lay, close my eyes

and think of angels instead.

 

 

 

Thanks for reading

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Peace, Love and Poetry 

 

Kyle