Spectres - by Rachel Inch


When the longest of days
Is all but gone
The wind has left
The light withdrawn,
When the stillness settles
Its heavy lay
Upon the remnants
Of the day,
And all that is left
Is the deep hue of night -
A place filled with spectres and memories alike.
The ghosts of the day
Will settle and dwell,
Dawdling in minds,
Stories to tell,
Will linger through sleep,
Rest heavy in thought,
Sink deeply in dreams
Bring angst and wrought.
But when the dawn seeps
And brings forth the day,
The ghosts of the night
Drift silently away.

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