The Presence Poem by Miss Tee

He waits
Like a thief in the dark.
Covered and smoldered within the night,
He burns, consumes any breathing light,
And waits to destroy the slightest spark.

A presence unexpected,
He’ll mock, mark and misconstruct.
Unwanted, he is rejected,
And told to self-destruct.

However, like the phoenix,
He remains immortal,
Rises from its ashes
And gives a little chortle.

He floats, and gloats at the back.
Arms drawn, waiting for its chance to attack.
He is a wheel of misfortune
Singing its own special tune.

For centuries, he has been relentless
His task to keep you sleepless.
Even his friends call him king
Knowing he can definitely sting.

I once asked him
“Doubt, must you always be at the brim? ”
He replied, “Yes, I cannot let it be.
I love to disagree.”
Thus, opposing clarity and lucidity,
He maintains his peculiarity.