A cool sense of tranquility overtakes my troubled spirit.
I emerge slowly from a deeply entrenched, lifelong nightmare and proceed into gentle reverie, into quiet wakefulness. Youthful ideals, embodied in vaporous form before me, are a black reminiscence, threatening to return as an untold want having neither name nor substance, only a niggling dig that skewers my soul.
I shut it out, shut out all the noise in the head: irrational thought, excessive thinking that leads to depression, to insanity. Yet, I am hopeful that devils of the past are blocked approach to me by a portcullis that guards both heart and mind.
I see but darkly my amorphous reflection and sense it is a phantom, not the real me. From behind scudding clouds comes an awakened moon that illumes my way and shows inner turmoil in a light once unfamiliar to me. I suffered a turbulent youth and truly do welcome the slow and spiraling descent into older age; I am not afraid . . .
The black shadow of the walking dead, cast upon the asphalt by a gracious moon, shall be my companion.