Mystery
At night, disinclined to be awake,
Any wince of a dream turns into rage
Something once pleasant becomes deceptive;
As illusions of quietude deeply blacken
Impending the shadow to retrace its way.
Every night, at the call of twilight,
From the hint of a flickering stars;
This mysterious shadow gnaws and preys
Nailing my thoughts on cracked walls …
Reminding me , I am the shadow;
Disturbed by the past's unfinished penance.
Mystery Contest: Nayda Ivette Negron
7/6/2016
Copyright © Nette Onclaud | Year Posted 2016
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