Philip Hoom - In The Fourth Hour

stretching for shadows
that hang on plastered walls
like empty ghouls
resigned to being trapped
in this dimension

inner turmoil projected?
or a nightwake phantom
as tangible as any entity?

I wipe the saliva from my cheek
focusing my mind on positive things
having sweated through
another set of sheets

one day, it will all be over.

this is only the beginning.

Philip Hoom

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/in-the-fourth-hour/