At night an apparition,

a dull face

refracted in the prism of my mind,

not quite horrific;

yet, sullen—

A vision, and a dream.


It hovers over the itchy sheets—

a reminder:

the deep basin

of filthy and forgotten dishes,

the rotten textbooks,

the strangulated

D  R  E  A  M  S.


It whistles in darkness,

to the tune of:  

D  E  A  T  H.


A head is lifted, and turned

to face the wall, to study

patterns in wallpaper,

silver in moonlight:

and a Light, bleeding

through the blinds,

through the shadows,

on the floor and

in my mind.


The Light it bleed

I did not mourn it.

The Darkness moved

I swear I saw it.


Death whistled—

and passed me by—

I was gazing at the

M  O  O  N  

L  I  G  H  T.

© Iain Sutherland, 2014. 
All rights reserved
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4 thoughts on “Apparition

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