It is dark and silent
The night is ink and
deep
Then that tuneless
violin
Scuttles my sweet
sleep
Up in arms! Light the
roof!
Pillow fixed in hand
Whispered curses
under breath
‘thy soul to hell be
damned!’
With salted eye I
search
For that which is
un-dead
That which drinks my
living blood
And hangs above my
bed
Then I see its shadow
Swift passing by my
ear
I parry with my
pillow
‘dear count your end
is near.’
But with a blink it’s
gone
I search and search
in vain
And as I close my
eyes to sleep ...
The violin whines
again.
Copyright © Jason
Horsler
1993
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