Waking walk

in broken tower,
in misty manse,
in red corridors,
in dark expanse.

The boots they march,
with even thrum,
the walls shake softly,
to deep bass drum.

In eerie still,
we hear them stride,
with broken skin,
pale eyed.


And in primordial dread formed the broken corpsemen that haunt the nights of our darkest dreams, and walk in mindless drile through the shutter streets of towns of old. Armies on the march and dead men walk, lands a flame and lands to salt, the war cries "MORE" and blood falls again to the ground. Ground plant and trodden pup, children cowering in ruined sheds, mothers covering there children. The night men walk and prowl and wait for the one small child to be before them that they may take her, and free their dreams. in waking nightmare and sleeping terror she knows they come and fears them not, for to her they are friends long lost, and soon to be, they are part of her, and definition.

The night men walk,
and onward creep,
to plague your dreams,
and drink your sleep.