SPECTRE

SPECTRE

Drifting by my window

on a cold dark winters eve,

no sound, nor chasing echo,

no path to follow or deceive.

 

A silent spectre; a mask of scorn,

a hazy memory, from life ’twas torn.

Jealously wanting what now it resents,

a rage no mortal can perceive or prevent.

 

The pulsing obsession of detached desire,

feeding the flames and stoking the fires

as it tries to cross the bridge to our plane,

resolute, relentless; a moth to a flame.

 

Pushing at the fabric with all of its will,

dull red eyes ignoring the light, until

with a cry of despair it relents and fades,

slowly drifting between intangible shades.

 

 

 

Written by Darren Scanlon, October 2009

This revised version written, 10th April 2015.

©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

7 Comments Add yours

  1. philbo62 says:

    Ethereal, darkness on the outside fringing the inside but wanting to be outside. Angst and fear shadowing a divine vulnerability.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks Kerry 😊

      Like

  2. seaangel4444 says:

    Darren, this is beautiful! Cher xo

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thanks Cher 😊

      Liked by 1 person

  3. rory16840 says:

    Beautiful ! Your words are magical !

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Thank you Rory😊

      Like

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