I woke to the sound of cracking stone,

Darkness ebbed upon awaiting shore.

Waking moments fell prey to twilight dreams,

As reality bent beneath an oppressive loaf.

Upon a rise I stood singular in form,

With naught but a single headstone to my eye.

Whispers in the waiting dark reached to bind me hand and foot,

I fell upon a frosted ground before cracklings and crumbled stone.

Before me no physical being held me bound,

Yet over mouth and nose a silent gag was pulled.

Screams arose strengthened and died before my lips,

As dying embers stole a crown.

Voices called upon a smoke filled breeze,

While hill, stone, and frosted grass turned to ash.

I awoke to the sound of my own home and kin,

As solid as could be in this darkest night.

My thoughts and fears reach out to those who know,

The realities of what I can only but dream.

Upon the hope of a rising dawn I quietly pray,

For those world has turned to naught but ash and smoke.

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Michael is a husband, father, writer, poet, and aspiring author. He finds time to scribble down his thoughts in the dead of night, between ghosts and night owls. If you’d like to read more of his poetry follow the link here. Or to visit his full blog, ‘The Ink Owl’ click here.