• Brian M Winningham


I sit wound tightly. Darkness comes

Stealthily upon me.

I watch the shadows grow

Longer: the fertile night.

With tortured slowness twilight dies

And is gone forever

(As if never there…)

Leaving the dreadful Night

It’s ill-begotten bastard scion.

Gone are the familiar, sturdy

Objects, known so well

As daylight shone.

Grotesque umbrae

Lurking in their stead,

Hiding (BECOMING) God

Knows what, laughing

Evilly in their darkness,

Eternally at my fear.


I scream your name!

Distant echoes answer…

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