Blog, Gothic, Poetry, spirituality, Writing

The Spectre

 

I watch you when sleeping,

Questioning what is a dream or worse,

And though I have been here for years,

Still you know me not.

 

With every passing night,

I am roused to you,

From my absinthian death,

To an ever colder defeat.

 

My purpose is forbidden; unspoken,

A hushed dream of my own,

That dark, eldritch forces keep away,

Save but the pain to remind.

 

As I watch you breathe, I must then hope,

That one day you will awake,

And remember who you were,

To release or banish me; forever more.

 

 

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