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Burning, in the dark of night,
when all the fires have dimmed.
In that unbroken silence
and thick soup of black fog –
once the realm of my childhood fears –
I welcome every licking flame,
every phantom ray of energy,
to burn away the unwelcome dream.

Raging passion of desire
consumes all rationale –
for this dream is yet undreamt
and touches me with such
infinitesimal caresses
it is as if I am paralysed;
frozen with fear for what might just be
lurking around the nearing corner.

Turning, in the face of death,
back to mightier things:
considering immortal
variegated Gods,
and virgin white apparitions
materialised with feathered wings.
Seeking for their touch or blessed kiss
with which to become resurrected.

Leaning on the strange man’s voice
who whispers in weird tones
affirmations for my soul –
accompanied by
the amplified purr of a cat!
I must love myself and believe him.
Without at least this binaural raft
I might be lost forever – burning.



© Allen Ansell 2008, 2023