the shadow knows my every move
he writes my dreams
as if to prove
his dominance

he's in my head
like a vagrant thought
a spider in my own web
I am caught

he's closer now
I sense the space
is measured in days
before he takes my place

she moves in light
while I'm awake
renders mercy
for hearts that ache

she waits in patient
silent hope
providing comfort
a cushion to cope

she has no thoughts
of giving in
slows my breath
when air gets thin

as I await
the final tide
she allows a glimpse
of the other side

she is the reason
this soul can rhyme
with every season
her gift of time

this is a true story about a spirit or spirits
he
or maybe she
or possibly both
or possibly more
let me know from time to time
that he, she or they are still here
I have heard many voices and seen many things
since I began recording them
it's as if I am sitting at the doorway to a meeting room
a meeting room of spirits
and this meeting room is in my home
I have filmed them...streams of orbs moving briskly
like a crowd at a rock concert hurrying to their seats
before the first song
one...a young male
I believe his name is Arthur
called my name as he passed over my head during a spirit box session
'Thomas'
he apparently was not happy being caught on camera
because within seconds of sending a copy of the video to a friend
a can of Lysol was thrown from underneath my bathroom sink against the wall
and my spirit box no longer functioned
this was 3 years ago
and they still let me know they are here
from time to time
in their various ways
I consider them my friends
I have yet to be harmed or frightened
I just think I noticed them
and they noticed that I noticed them

(last line borrowed from 'The Mothman Prophecies')