I Write Poetry

Not a sheep in sight.

Those demons hidden in corners,
play chase around her head.
Dreams become those dancing thoughts,
that hold her tight in bed.
He comes to her in fretful sleep,
dressed in a life of endless guises.
Damp from a subconscious breath of hope,
then deep in her heart he rises.
She watches their shadows caught in time,
as they slowly come together.
While time stands still she dares not breathe
she needs to hold this, at her leisure.
A million glass needles touch her skin,
then shatter with the dawn.
She won’t remember when she wakes,
the dream like him - long torn.