The white widow follows her prey to the end of Chapel Street

where he slips into the shadows of an ancient church

He knows she will be there on the night of the full moon

Shadowy dark stones, names faded

Fingers reaching through the earth pointing towards heaven

Beseeching, praying in their own way that she would come

Fallen leaves swirl like tiny dancers with one last leap of joy

before blanketing those who lie below

The chill wind drops, do they now lie in comfort?

The white widow comes to collect the dreams that linger

She will free them to live again

The world is teeming with unused energy

we have long forgotten how to make use of

Waiting in the shadows, his legs ache

He is forced to kneel, to wait, to watch

There is no sudden beam of light, no sign she could

do the things whispered about her

She moves slowly through the dark headstones

He hears her voice, like water on glass

The sweet sound of distant bells

She knows he waits in the shadows

He will stand witness to the freeing of energy

of those stuck beneath the ground where old bones rattle

 in anticipation, a silent cheer for what is to come

He feels the charge in the air,

A strange stirring, pricking against his skin

The need to drive his legs forward urgent now

The blanket of leaves rustle stirred by unseen forces

Tiny lights, stars, make their way through the earth

Growing larger until he is looking at rolls of film

Each dream played out in vivid colour

That private part of those who died

Their dreams free, their bones lie silent now

The white widow turns to where he hides in the shadows

Bows her head before moving on her way

He now has a story to tell of how the air shimmered

with lives lived while sleeping

Who will believe such fantasy…?