Dark nights

I
Dreams in tatters,
hopes so deeply
frayed, optimism
languishes; so do
fears parade.

II

Holding to the
fantasies of past,
serves no end;
has no future.

III

Realms of dark
being, on the edge
of sleep, there do
demons dwell.

IV

They haunt me,
hopes in stained
robes, drifting in
translucence.

V
Pain pulls the draw
string on the small,
soft bag of self,
tying me into being.

VI
Culled, cut finer
pruned by life’s
blade, so are we
reformed.

VII
Scattered pieces,
mind in disarray;
soul selects to
re-member.

VIII
Suffering is
the language
of this life-
its babble.

IX

Whisperings
without sub
stance – taunt.

X

Transformation
waits with
empty hands.

About rosross

Editor, writer, poet.
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