Whispers carry on the wind,
Bringing with them an uneasy feeling of chagrine,
Carressing my skin it flowed through the night sky,
Urging my consciousness to take flight.
I stood alone,
Surrounded in the dark folds of my mind,
I sank back into the cushion of solitair created for me,
Waiting for me.
It almost seemed to me that the darkness was alive,
Watching and waiting for the moment that I would succomb to it's shadows.
For as I collapsed into it's dark veneer it reached for me,
Pulling and grasping for me with the most vapor like fingers,
None existent it would seem, yet the influence just as real.
I cried for help, but to no avail.
Could I be dreaming?
And if so, I was a lonely dreamer.
A very lonely dreamer indeed.