In the quiet hours
on the edge of dreams
I see a face in the shadows
I see eyes I almost know
I am searching for a door
in rooms I have never seen
yet somehow feel familiar
soft whispers cling to my skin
as cold as an ancient grave
here in this place my soul aches
with the weight of echoes
lost, they are calling softly to me
and once again I find myself
walking down time’s
ancient paths
© Ann Bagnall
Annie's Poetry 