A Thin Shade of Being

Evocative shadows passing over the grey hills of my dreams
of the fullmoon lit landscape bereft of movement,
where I wander in my solitary quest for being.
But the flittering image in my mind is growing faint,
and the sky of my dreams has turned grey like dust,
whereupon the moon is only a faint patch in the fog.
And the stillness is broken by the cold cruel wind
that blows from the bleak northern steppes,
without remorse it engulfs me in the darkness.
A crematory smoke strikes my senses, and soon I behold
the morbid shadow in the vast distant horizon
almost hidden by the ever darkening fog.
The smoke is beckoning me, and there are flakes of ash
dancing in the thick smothering air.

It is my ash that I breathe in a thin shade of being
as I walk down the path lined with the dust of human remains.
It is my ash that I dream in the darkening fog
as I am slipping away into the land of eternal death.