Dark shadows bleaker than the dead,

their hands touch my chin in soft caress

as I envision the many experiences lived

through by the dead, the best, the worst,

the middle and I too have crossed many horizons,

seen many smiles, such knives to behold

behind those teeth, aimed for my back,

at my front when they have grown confident,

such sneers when I have fallen,

what praises they offer when a favor is sought,

I bring back the dead,

to remind men of what had happened,

and men they prefer bedtime stories,

no man ever really wants to hear the truth,

it is best covered with daisies and rainbows,

alas that has never brought me peace.

The drips of the raindrops can be heard,

dripping, dripping, till the stones

finally crack, and I wonder

when too … … I will fall. and it seems

I care not, for it is a cold damp place

I am in, no stirring of the wind,

no color within the horizons, it is all quite

still here, in my inner realm, where the real

me resides.