Insignificance smothers me.
The darkest night
Deep and claustrophobic,
Thick and damp with tears,
Shadows, hug close
Old familiar helpers.
Blue velvet, softly sensuous
Mirroring dangerous reflections
Indistinguishable from dreams,
Folding quietly about the years.
Encompassing, stroking gently at decrepit flesh
Sometimes cold, sometimes warm,
But even during frivolity,
The lonely shadow lingers
The children of the imagination enter,
Folding about the loneliness like a felt blanket
Drawing pictures in the dust.