these ghosts

come stalking at 3 a.m.

whiffling through the tulgywood

like a jabberwock

hunting

the tired mind stares and lingers

dumbstruck

gazing

idiotic, chastised

but then the hunter becomes the hunted

ensnared with the nets of vulnerability

caught high in Yggdrasil

caged in old branches

of well used wands and staff

cuffed with crowns of thorns

adorned with lotus flowers

fed on the water of tears

the bread of self loathing

until dead from the nothingness

dusted by the grief of worries

extinguished then washed away

by it's own anxious oceans

winding into the void that creates

the brightness of being

the guidance of energies

the otherside mountain