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Rated: ASR · Poetry · Supernatural · #1893303
No longer ghosts, but something left behind.
Shadowplay
Criss Dane



The silence leaves its own dour mark
Never giving ample rest
The shadows smell the close of day
And gather near with mimed behest
Entreating me to embrace the dark

No words air to break the stillness
Sound now lost to faded past
They stare at me with minds gone grey
Faces pleading to the last
With deep desires pale and ageless

Barren wading through regret
They know not where to fall
The last of dreams are held at bay
Listening for an empty call
Waiting still, if only to forget

Reduced to ashen afterthought
Lingering in the dying gold
Desperate to have their say
Before the last of light is sold
To what the night has wrought

Seduced by evening hour’s fade
I feel temptation pulling
To join them in their lost dismay
No longer seen but ever waiting
Watching me from eager shade


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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1893303-Shadowplay