Faces..

Neither poison snakes nor spider's bites,
Nor things that go 'bump' in the dark,
Cause my soul as much alarm as faces.
Simply faces.
They find me now,
As they always have,
In the arms of sleep at night.
They come to me in silence,
On mounts of restless dreams.
Slowly they ride, these phantom souls,
And quietly block my passage.
I am not allowed in the valley of hope,
Where sits the kingdom of peace.
They stand their post with hollow frames,
Kept warm by coal-black shrouds,
Woven from my darkest secrets.
Their ashen faces peer down at me,
From the darkness, where they sit.
Their dead eyes never blink;
Their stares never rest.
They never move their heads about...
Yet somehow they follow my every movement.
I fear that they are but the opening scene,
In this play for worn-out warriors.
Act one, scene one,
Faces.
Simply faces…
I fear I will never see forgiveness in them.