Another poem there’s probably room for work still I like it.

The trouble with sleep is that sometimes the outer dark speaks
And you have no choice but to listen your unresponsive flesh locked
In place. The night air quivers with anticipation perfect darkness no stars
Except the artificial lights generated by parasitical humanity.

I dream myself to McGarts fort overlooking the city all is dark, overcast
Clouds hide the night stars my mind’s eye can see for miles as the city dreams 
Its twisted nightmares, smells permeate the night air as factories and slaughterhouses 
Grind up the detritus of society and produce the poisons which feed humanity.

I see the void Belfast Lough a place of dark within the darkness
Not even the lights are reflected I can feel it watching a great despairing
Beast wallowing in its own depravity. Feed me it cries and nature responds
A speck of lights detaches from the horizon and crosses the void carrying precious humanity.

I try to will it back but am distracted by the harrowed screams of the damned as their chariots pierce the sky windows lit with purgatories blaze. I turn back and watch in despair as the lights cross the hungry maw protected by my perch I can only gaze as the lights slowly become absorbed by the harbour the beast rests now its hunger sated on a fresh sacrifice of humanity.

I shudder to wakefulness drenched in sweat reminded of the time I slept in an open field surrounded by dew dropped spider silk I tumbled back to sleep to dream of bitter memories.

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