Oh,these ghosts that haunt me nightly, tearing at my soul,
These screaming, wailing, moaning ghouls, my senses do appall.
My sleep is wrecked, and torn apart, my silence is undone,
And all I see are shadows, where the nightmares have begun.
Then come, oh come, and do your worst, I will not share your pain,
If I can't rest, then nor should you, bound up within your chain.
You shall not load your guilt on me, your terror is your own,
Though heavy weigh my sorrows, they weigh on me, alone.
What deadful crimes have you committed, to be treated thus?
And who gave you the freedom, now, to visit them on us?
Or are you just reflections, of the way we all must end?
A mirror of the harvest reaped, is that what you portend?
So in my sweat soaked sheets I lay, my ghosts for company,
The Black crow on my windowsill, waits patiently for me.
I do not seek redemption, or an Angel's sweetened breath,
I've courted sin throughout my life, and take it to my death.
Yet who has claims to innocence, in thought, or word, or deed?
And who among us sin soaked wrecks, have souls that shall not bleed?
So when I go I'll join these ghosts, on their hopeless quest,
To burden others with their chains, and find eternal rest.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Owain Glyn
