Dreams and Death Rattles

As nightfall’s ebon cloak smothers the skies,
visions begin to tumble towards me.
Though my eyes are closed, I still clearly see
these illusions which stun and mesmerize.
With unreal mystique, they twist ‘round the room
on carousels of shunned malignity,
abominations of indignity
and night-bound ire, defilers of dawn’s tomb

Their magicks of a place long benighted
churn in black and gold. Invoked, I reach through
slumber’s gloom, out towards the looming brew
to quell my awe-struck state they’d incited.
And lo! In throe, bated breath turns to scream
when I find these horrors to be no dream.