POETRY – 3TC #MM83
(Part II of The Forbidden Sphere)
They never speak — yet still they warn,
With presence sharp as briar thorn.
From every edge, behind each tree,
A knowing gaze leans into me.
I’ve never seen a face, a form,
Just hush that settles thick and warm.
They move when light begins to thin,
As if the dark invites them in.
I thought I saw a signal flash —
A glint, a shift, a silver lash.
But when I turned, the mist was bare,
As if the fog had never cared.
They guard the orb with sacred right,
Unyielding as the velvet night.
And though no blade nor gate I see,
They’ve kept its heart away from me.
A whispered clue behind the bark—
A mark too faint to name or mark.
Each piece I find, they pull away,
Like ghosts in long-abandoned play.
It’s like a seance with no voice,
No table, chant, or sacred choice.
Just shadows moving without sound,
As if the dead still guard their ground.
They kept me from discovery,
From questions asked too hungrily.
From truths that bend, from lines that blur,
From something deep I almost were.
Swift they move through drifting gray,
Their touch a chill that steals the day.
And still I stand, and still I burn—
For what they guard, I must unlearn.
But who appoints a watcher’s place?
What gives them claim to time and space?
And if I walk where none may tread…
Do I wake the dream, or join the dead?
Memoirs of Madness 