Touch a tune that runs soul deep,
Tis awkward the sound as you sleep.
Invading the mind your dreams it entwines,
So deep like a fog the curvy path it winds
Hidden? A sigh as you capture your breath,
Tossing and turning as you run from death,
A will of discernment which judgment is right,
Running from the spirits in my nightmares tonight.
Nay tis good, no tis evil the words chosen brief,
Wake me. Choose my path. I need relief.
The tears I cry fall like torrential rain,
The path of knowledge, the path of the insane.
Forward I go, confused, then turn back once again.
I scream. Little good it does for the spirits fight within,
“Wake me, wake me,” I scream but none to hear,
I shiver, I shake, but I cannot ease my fear.
© Cynthia Clark