Unbidden, a poem

 Unbidden

Unbidden come these dreams,
wending roads of night;
let them hang themselves
by waning lantern light
at each crossroad gallows,
as the moon unbars
all the darkened gates
of the tombstone stars.

Calling to the tempest,
every word a pact
with tomorrow’s demons,
sunrise will diffract
echo into echo,
each into its lies,
facets of the wind
promised to the skies.

Sing my midnight riddles
until the answers change;
pluck the corpse-white blossoms,
seeking to arrange
bouquets for loves forgotten,
in graves I’ve long hidden,
for the roads of night,
for these dreams unbidden.

Stephen Brooke ©2026