Night Fright

 
The sun melts into the western skyline,
its last hurrah, splashes of orange and pink,
spewed defiantly across the darkening blue
as it is swallowed up by the horizon.

The chilled night air creeps among the shadows 
stretching like tentacles over the land.
The fog is rising, converging like a pack 
of hungry wolves waiting to pounce.

Closer and closer, the walls close in,
blocking out both light and sound,
gripping the soul with an eerie silence
‘til nothing penetrates but fear itself.

The night will cast fear while it can,
like some primordial villain who knows 
the time will come when it will wield  no power, 
but for memory, under the sun.



                       march 2003





Awarded by Flowing Quills week of 23 March 2003