The seasons change

And harvest comes

Followed by the night

We tell spirits

To pass on by


Ancient fears

Buried in our daylight smiles

Hiding behind social niceties

Somewhere a drum beats

Somewhere the fires burn

And a priestess chants

A prayer of protection

As we hustle

And we bustle

Always seeking to outrun

That whisper of the other side

Speaking to us during our restless hours

But denial casts no charm

And refusal builds no circle

So we fear the approaching hours

And hide away

To await the sun – Caroline A. Slee

Approaching Hours

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