A farce set night <br />dwindling twilight <br />how the light has escaped our eyes. <br />Our fears draw near <br />inside the whisper 'they're here, they're here' <br />But we find only ourselves to despise. <br />Now midnight creeps over <br />and silent songs haunt her, <br />for what could, should but not has been <br />lying, growing old <br />Nothing to hold <br />In this lonely bedroom scene. <br /> <br />'Come, Comfort' <br />the cry <br />low <br />the sigh <br />As we close <br />our lives <br />to the real <br />'Come, Comfort' <br />Again <br />our dreamworld of sin <br />it is then we become as we feel. <br /> <br />------------------- <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />Let me dream once more <br />of yonder mansion on a misty shore, <br />Where slithers lay in the basin deep <br />and forgotten spirits roam the castle keep. <br />Cold wetted walls of dank and mold <br />lined with books of lore never told. <br />The darkened air <br />evil's lair <br />But why me care <br />when nothings there.<br /><br />S.W. Clark<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/come-comfort/
