Shadows

Sometimes the shadows overcome
the bright, clear lines of life,
and dim the prospects dreadfully;
darken days and nights.
They drift within my consciousness,
throw echoes round my mind,
and suffocate the lungs of hope
where sanity resides.
In spectred dank imaginings,
they trawl the realms of doubt,
and hold in horror's clustering
the hopelessness of now.
With clammy, cold revealings,
they mock with edge distraught,
and drape the bitter stage of time
in curtained, ragged thought.
Confusion reigns in shadowed realms,
and holds the key to doors,
which hang in splitting, angry frames;
decay devours the source.
These demons drawn ephemeral,
dark phantom shades of fear,
will hover at the crossing;
as reason calls, 'beware.'