The Promise

Phantoms of the past,

Rousers that raise

Spectres to cloud 

An already darkened night.

I stumble,

An errand Bunyan;

No guiding light, 

No tinkles of bells, no mirages to console.

The void of dull perplexities,

Returns no echoes,

Or reassurances –

Only the hollowness of fears.

I dangle on the charioteer’s word, 

Made as horses thundered on.

With horses and armies deserting,

There remains but hope to lead me on.