Something Comes Upon This Soulless Night
Something unholy moves in the blackness of night
A faint vibration growing beneath the skin of the world
Something soulless, something that demands recognition
Message telegraphed, message received
Darkened and stiff branches now leaning downward, inward
Shadowy limbs groping for what hides amongst them
Slivers of pale moonlight squeezed until their light absconds
Escaping back to the night sky and the veils of cloud
What was warm, now growing colder and colder
Every stone an algid tongue pressed hard against the silence
Beneath every shadow, a complicated foreboding trap
Night has fallen, but never has a night fallen like this night
For something rises, something comes upon this soulless night
Not with predictable footfalls, nay, that would be merciful
But on the air, in your mind, and in the shadows all around
A lumbering sloth, heavy with the dust and gloom of prophecy
An uncoiling of ancient hunger, a swelling tide of black intent
Air moves, but the wind refuses to rise to the occasion
Like the moonlight, it retreats, finding a watchful vantage point
Cowering in the hollows of run-down, broken houses
Where ill-hung doors bow inward, cracked windowpanes sweat
And the forest has begun the actions of reclamation
Silence whispers the absence of life, neither bird nor insect cries
On this night the smallest lives understand to cower in hiding
Or never see the light of another passing morn
What approaches is not beast or ghost, nor storm or plague
But the absence behind all of them, the mouth that swallows’ names
Erases memories, races, and the standards that told their tales
This soulless night ushers in that which has waited for centuries
Waited until despair has taken hold, and the future filled with darkness
A divided world now filled with those so alone that they’d notice
Those who would feel the creeping doom approaching
Yet have no direction, no calling to take up arms, no choice but surrender
Listen, you hear it now, not sound, but the weight of pressure
A rough and unyielding hand being held against the back of your heart
Movements become struggles, you understand, but it’s too late
Your prayers have no weight, and your symbols are but objects
You struggle under a quiet scream, knowing torment is your master
Silence awaits, and the certainty that the night itself has found a way in
Additional Reading
R.J. (Ralph) Schwartz is an American poet, author, website owner, and online publisher. His writing spans several poetry collections—ranging from spiritual and romantic to fear-driven explorations—and even extends into science fiction. Notable works include:
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Hope – Inspirational and Spiritual Poetry
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Things That Go Bump in the Night – Poetry of Fear and Fright
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The Lover’s Thread – Poetry for Couples
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Poetry of the Human Condition – The Ups and Downs of Modern Living
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The Secrets of the Moon (a sci-fi novel co-authored with his son Sebastian J. Schwartz)
Schwartz’s work is described as purposefully wordy, richly descriptive, and thematically grounded in nature, romance, antiquity, and forgotten histories. He writes regularly on platforms he manages, including The Creative Exiles, a collaborative venue for writers, and The Gypsy Thread, which delves into offbeat histories, pagan lore, and poetry.
- The Republic of Perpetual Outrage - March 7, 2026
- Thoughts Over Coffee – The Cereal Taxonomy Crisis - February 25, 2026
- Normal Was The First Casualty - February 23, 2026
