Oneirophobia

Ominous oneironauts lurk and arise from the deepest well

Nyctophilian creatures who are borne from the pits of Hell

Eclipsing the mysterious alternative twilight of inner space

In the consuming darkness, they're the wandering wraiths

Reveries fanciful rangers can twist dire dystopian dreams

Opening macabre subliminal portals of disturbing themes

Parasitic feeders, they'll wheedle in an unconscious mind

Haunting the paralysed dreamers in their terrors confined

Ogres, demons, or maybe the night hag, succubus whore

Bait to entrap the sleepers, within a hideous primeval lore

Irresistibly gorging on nightmares, they'll manifest into life

And slyly await the waking moment with a glistening knife

 

Silent Knight

Some said he was sent by Morpheus, as the craven waking wight

Imbedded in the nefarious nightmares, as an unholy Silent Knight

Lurking benignly, on the periphery, but it's merely his masquerade

Evoked to ensnare death's dreamers, onto his sabre's razor blade

Nyctophilian ranger renounced the light, to become forever errant

The righteous path's forsaken, for his malice is impiously inherent

Kindred spirits gather all around him, in the catacomb of nihilence

Night hags duping sleepers, as the waking wight haunts in silence

In a dark paralysis of fear, the dreamer's subconscious is derailed

Gouged through the soul, they'll rest in peace, on a blade impaled

Heinous demons, soon fade, to reveal the craven antipode of light

The creeper reaper borne in dreaming, the nefarious Silent Knight

 

Count To Three

Close your eyes below the hanging bough, of the old oak tree

Once the light has waned, take a moment, then count to three

Under the spell of the ancient wood and the rope scarred bark

Nothing unknown will follow you here, where the world is stark

The count has passed and what was lush, has turned to tinder

This once cyan sylvan will fade away, to be as bleak as winter

Orientate yourself, with naught to say, from your lolling tongue

Then face the raven, who's been your shadow, for far too long

Here there's a dirge of tautened creaking, from a hollow depth

Realising you have a need to breathe, but you have no breath

Every last second lost hasn't happened, but it's what might be

Enraptured by this reverie, close your eyes and count to three