whispers

The dark has gone from the pages of the book into my sleep. I wanted to dream of love, and here I walk among the dead, the lost, the forgotten. Whisperers in the grey realm, hopeless shadows  of thoughts. They crowd where my footfalls ring, and cry out voiceless. Always beckoning, calling out my name. But my name has no meaning in the shadow lands. It is not I. There is no I. Never was.