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…?
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