Was it you

Was it you

Who passed this way

In the shadow

Before the fade of resistance

Brought the fragile filament

Into a plunge of darkness

Sending a shiver

Of goosebumps

Down my exposed arm

Hairs really do stand on end

A survival mechanism

From prehistoric times

When being hunted

Was an everyday occurrence

The stairwell

Not a place to linger

When draughty air

Sets heightened nerves a tingle

The jangle of a windchime

Barely heard

Above the beating of my heart

Was it you

Who whispered

From the bedroom

Bade me enter

Sheltered me in sleep

Right through to morning

When upon rising

A slough of trepidation

Shrugged away

In satisfaction

Of surviving

Yet another confluence

Of mystic agitation

As the agnostic

And spiritual

Halves of my internal

Dimension

Cleaved by circumstance

Met once more at midnight

In negotiation

For my soul

Whatever and wherever

This may be deemed

To be.