It comes as a whisper
A breath of sheer torment
that fills the dreamy fluids of thought
captivates them to its weary song
and drifts far along the banks of comprehension
Till ravished fully It dies a thousand deaths
and echoes its shuddering form outward
Into the final vision, the last fringe.
To bare its self to the nights slow creep
that delusional hope
Fast, drawn upon the whimpered prayer
That final gasp
Life ebbs slowly and finely away
Into the pits of dark shadowlands
where only the nights howl gathers
And death smirks upon the torn veil.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph