Night - Poem by Anne Pradlebury
The dark rose looms near
doom flows to the river of fear
Evil unbeknownst, from twilight moon
the glow, as the heart’s boon.
E’er will the witches doom behold
the mystery of spheres, age old.
The celestial beings commit. Dread
crimes of immoral bed.
Sex and secrets through insecurity
dreams of love’s impurity.
The blindness of Gods tells us all
from ashes of comets come Doomsday’s call
On the fingers of bats grows the dark
superstition a whisker away from death. A lark
to the unknown, Satan’s plaything,
becomes a sleepy jaunt to doomsday’s ring.
The clock’s midnight hour brings about the abyss
of night, and fire, none to miss.
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