We, the sleepless,
dream of palaces
in the ether.
Behind those pillars,
lay the beast-things,
who beckon us nightly
for their feasting.
They rumble,
dreaming of a distant world,
where the sleeping monsters,
those lurkers in the dark,
the forgotten horrors,
whose claws raked their marks,
were not forced to dream
in their eternal slumber,
but could pick white-clean,
the bones of those stumblers,
who wandered into
the chambers,
where forgotten nightmares sleep.
When you lay your head
against the cold sheets,
listen for the echoes on marble,
from naked,
running feet.
If your pillow is wet,
from a sudden,
chilling sweat,
perhaps you escaped tonight,
running, fleeing,
the forgotten feeding halls
of the sleeping damned.
©️ 2019.
