The Gathering Storm

haunted-woman

(A sonnet of darkness)

Alone by fading light of the gathering storm,

I sit and watch the fire’s flickering light,

but shadows cloud my vision on this night

and drive away the things that keep me warm.

Outside the wind is howling at the moon,

and I sit shivering deep inside my soul.

The moonless shrieking makes my blood run cold,

as unseen coyotes join the eerie tune.

 

As silence falls outside my glass-paned door,

I look into the window of my heart

and see my fear reflected in the dark:

I am the haunted, hunted troubadour,

the prey of monsters born of growing gloom,

whose increase seals our world’s collective doom.


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