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Night Song
by Sharmagne Leland-St. John

Night syllables linger
upon my lips;
I shake the dream,
escape the mist.
Yet ghostly images
prevail...I cannot lift
the cob-webbed veil.
He came to visit
in my sleep,
tarried in
the castle's keep.
When I assayed
to cling, to cleave
he left me there
to weep, to grieve;
in the shadow
of the cloister bell.
Like my death knell
it would toll,
striking fear
into my soul‐
I am told
while still abed
and in the grip
of nightmare dreams,
one can rip
the spell to shreds,
can take command,
by counting the fingers
on one's own hand.
 

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