by Jayne Harris
I’m here to tell my story,
though it’s one you won’t believe,
I saw the worlds creation
and the blackness in it’s weave.
And now I come, a chill, a breeze
A whisper not quite heard.
A presence in the darkness,
I’m the churning in your stomach,
When you know you’re not alone.
The omnipresent visitor
The one they call Unknown.
I’m the twitching in your eyelid,
the goose-bumps on your arm
The shiver creeping up your spine
The fear that kills your calm.
I’m the doubt inside your memories,
When you’re desperate to recall,
Whether real or dream that sound you heard
From within your bedroom wall
I’ve been given many names it seems,
Yet I recognize not any,
For in truth you see I’m nameless,
As we’re not one but many.
You know we’ve always been there,
We’ve watched you from afar
We’ve seen the darkness you possess,
Yes, we know who you are.
And during restless slumbers,
In nightmares we will play,
As this is how we leave our mark,
For dreams aren’t real…are they?
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