When I Dream I see Them,
Or when my footfalls vibrate
In those earthly ancient places
Where the power of
Great events yet rumbles
In the rock and soil
For those whose
Sight and hearing and touch
Sense from the forgotten
Observer of the Mind.
Yes, in those old lands
Are they most apparent,
Where the rhythms of my flesh
Prick and freeze
From the attention
My walking watch attracts.
Have you seen your darkness,
Those hungry ghosts
Of passions past?
No? Well, it does not matter
For those are not They...
They are something Other.
They are within but in form without.
They are like a thousand
Stygian spiders spinning
A web of shadow
To ensnare us all.
First in the paths
No longer investigated,
Then in soulways
More pedestrian.
You chuckle.
I do not joke.
You must decide whether to
Aid Them in their strands,
Or shatter the tar lines
Which would consume our flight.
I know...
You do not See.
But trust me...
There is a dark weave rising.
