Apparition

Not a vision, apparition – blue-cold shroud of ghoul, just a sense – only that you know through psychic penetration; there! lurking, sulking under murky tones of light interrogating clouds of dust heavy in the air – dank must pervading; what lair invites? – where hollow breaths and mutters heavy in the head bequeath to me the presence of the dead. A roar of silence calls up the death of day, let birth of night enshrine, come of age, in black, to stifle reason. Like the crushing of a skull, whispers beg me join, coalesce. My answer bled a scream – For this was not a dream. Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2012