Ironic Seance

Together, we form a circle
with numerous candles lit
in the pitch of night
searching for spirits.

We open the realm
of those who've died before
in hopes to connect
without everlasting deplore.

Chanting voices on the call
above whispering prayers,
we search for the deranged souls
who've been slayered.

They visit our fragile beings,
sending chills throughout our spines...
they touch , they indulge
in what shall remain thine.

They pierce our naive shadows
satisfying their perverse needs,
we, longing for an absent escape
can only use our teary pleads.

The realm has captured new beings,
we replace the old...
Too late to be saved
for they have stolen our souls.

Heather M Craig.

*random and rather quick negative thought of the future seance my friends and I plan to hold forced into poem.*