Imagined Horrors

The night is long and full of ghosts
Not of the dead--we vanish when we die--
But of ideas. The unimagined hosts
Flitter inanely in the daytime sky
But hover closer when the night draws in.
They try to burrow deep into our souls
Prompting our dreams of saintliness or sin
Pursuing always their own selfish goals:
To be remembered, thought, and given wing
Within a living mind. I cannot sleep
Or they will occupy my everything
And I, who never contemplate the deep
Will find myself, despite my inclination
Engaged in sudden ratiocination.