A sliver from the silvered lantern
coats my skin in midnight glimmer,
as the bright white candle waxes,
comes the wicked witching hour
ghosts descend to linger here.
In the painted sparkling night,
haunted corners embrace spirits,
cool crisp air fairly shimmers
as whispered winds tell the tale,
secret tongues only for my ear.
Come the morning all will vanish
under beds and into closets,
harsh hard eye of glaring day,
stark sun will chase all shadows
to disappear like forgotten dreams.
But in the dark night sparkle
mystery time of the fairy light,
dead cry out their secret sorrows
and unsung prophets ease their pain,
in the silverbright soft moonbeams.