Haunted

Medoc, these walls enthrall me so. I walk as in a dream. To where the silent shadows grow, As jagged as a scream. The time is ever yesterday. In the sleep of the restless dead. I go my most uncertain way. Near overcome with dread. Medoc do you, like me hear? These hallways, are they pleading? Whispered angry voices near. Perhaps I am receding. The clock says naught of consequence In the fastness of the night The spectre pale of lumnescence So absolutely white. Run, scurried feet that worry so Perhaps this very wall. The vicious scratching to and fro. To frightful to recall. What dire deaths do circumstance, Award to all alike. Alas, the wasted bones shall dance. And midnight never strike. Medoc, the sleeping cannot fear. That such as we be bound. To search these mournful hallways here. For that which won't be found. The mirror true does testify. To the truth of a vague intuition. I am medoc, and medoc is I. And both are apparition. Alas, twas we, both you and me. For medoc we're one and the same. That forged this grey eternity. Much to our endless shame. It's always just a moment past. In time for such as we. Long will our twin damnations last. The damned are never free.This is dedicated to Stephan King for all those bad dreams he tried to give me.  So tell me, does it fit him? Written November 24th, 2001 © on Nov 24 2001 04:53 AM PST, Patric Patterson    0 • 10