Silent Armies

Shadows form, into silent armies, of the wandering souls of wights

In league with the ravening darkness and death's rudimentary rites

Lost from memories and dreams, they are the shifting empty space

Extinguished ephemeral matter, they were once of the human race

Not in Heaven or Hell, for there is no afterlife, as described by liars 

Their final unresting place is betwixt the icy cold and burning pyres

And they are rank and file and all together, but cannot take or give

Ranging beyond the daylight, they can only feed on those who live

Mourning breaks, but the day is lost to transgressing twilight forms

Inundating through open portals to slake and drown in quiet storms

Eventide fades to lifeless night and beyond the reach of terra firma

Silent armies will douse each shining light, without a dying murmur

Nothing's Real

Nothing's real, except for all the living nightmares, in an imaginary head
Of conjurations and the sophistry of prophetic words of thoughts unsaid
The world outside is an empty space of shade borne from mourning mist
Holographic apparitions of spectres that have never been, but will persist
I'm on an inside looking out, but where I am? I have no hope to ascertain
Neither here nor there, or anywhere else, but if I 'was', I would be insane
God bless myself, but I'm merely an illusion, in a collusion without control
Something from nothing, but the sum of the parts cannot make me whole
Reality's, non-actuality, is the dancing strings pulled by the puppet master
Enabling the fallacy of aspirations, of what might be, like a whether-caster
And unreality has never been anything more than a stochastic hint of light
Lost in an effulgent nebulous ocean and so far distant, that it's out of sight