Stochastic hopelessness grasps at deeply rooted dread.
Insistent memories of darkness fill my head.
Perpetually chilled by the icy touch of death.
I run forever lonely, sleepless nights to count my steps.
Continous shivers of insanity as shadows dance.
Such a grip of fear that paralysis soon sets in.
Plagued by the silhouettes familiar countenance,
Four figures stand around my bed.
One reaches, elongated fingers clawing towards
The others soon take to crawling
Up the walls only to contort their necks.
But alas, the hand soon overtakes me
My mouth moves but only silent screams find their way beyond my lips.
The figures soon grin malicious, shrill cacophonous evil screeches beckon me forward again.
Soon the figures overtake me, their blackness absolute.
A finale filled with drowning agony, the figures return home inside my head.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Light by Albert Witz )
Top 500 Poems
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley