Difficult to find the time to write poetry these days. Here is one that somehow found its way onto my computer.
Spectre.
In dark of night as I lie in bed sleeping,
deep in slumber as one who were dead.
Through the wall comes silently creeping
a spectre, drifting mutely towards my bed.
Reach for it, my hand will pass on through,
spectres are of a finer spirit than mortals
are sent to haunt the likes of me and you
when leaving their dark and dreary portals.
So I sleep a sleep undisturbed by dreams,
having no knowledge that a spirit lurks
summoned by my conscience, my regimes
of suppressed desires and longed for works.
Spectres, devoid of any face that man can see,
hover above my sleeping form. Then with intent
blends it’s vaporous self into my awaiting body,
allowing me to dream which I cannot prevent.
Yet desires long planned invade the scene
and inner strength summons up powers.
Sleepwalk to the cookie jar, a clever scheme,
both nibbling away through dreaming hours.
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