By Tony DeLorger © 2011
What speaks to me in darkest sleep,
voices like echoes dragging me from blissful oblivion.
They taunt me so, their words hard and demanding,
if only I could understand their intent.
Like waves of garbled sound,
they encroach my peaceful slumber,
images flashing like lightning strikes,
I toss and turn in my numbing cloud,
trying to escape their affront,
only to be hounded with more determination,
their voices even more desperate, disconcerting.
Why me I ask, what do I have to offer,
powerless in this torture chamber of sleep.
Their pleading so matted not a word is understood,
just their earnest and panicked tones.
Faces pass through my vision,
lost and haunting, vacant stares wanting.
I do not fear them but they disturb my soul,
and I can feel them pulling me, this way and that.
Until the dawn breaks
and light beacons my consciousness,
I am in their control, lost in confusion,
waking to uneasiness and disorder.
I wake unrested and weak,
the passage of darkness lost to a pointless agony.
I wish them gone from my peace,
and let me find my oblivion, once more.
What speaks to me, be gone.