Never the spite of a cold-blooded night
shall bring me down from fire’s light,
still the heart in anguish, or meld
with some malaise or ill-timed knell
of ghastly aberrant echoes.
From a past of muffled screams,
dreams awry and tear-filled eyes,
of pain and torture, black shadows alive,
with ghoulish entities within
and blood released in savage feast and sin.
I pry my eyes away,
from the curtain blown by no wind at all
and rattled windows creak and groan
as if in pain from a source unknown,
and I begin to feel the chill, a dreaded fear instilled.
As shadows dance upon the walls,
and flickering flames tonguing appal,
like demons deviant minds a drool,
as crackled wood does spew
twisting embers into the flue, in spiral reds.
My chair so soft and warm bares to me,
what I cannot see behind,
entities all blind with arms outstretched,
edging forward, in a shallow breath,
as if to plead some mercy of relief.
Their shadows grow up the walls,
as they gather more and more,
until their hands surround my seat,
bony tremulous fingers as white as snow,
translucent in the light, and lifeless in plain sight.
My heart pounding, my soul
screaming silently in panic,
as I cannot look, the fear now overtook the pain,
and heart on fire, flesh so weak,
these effigies of deathly ruin, consume me.
As in zenith peaked, the panic reached
a place of no return, and my consciousness
reserved for quieter plains, embarks
on a planned escape, an oblivion I sate,
in falling from my place to slumbers ache.
I pray that when I wake it will be dawn.
Tony DeLorger © 2018
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