Oh, the Dread and Terror
Down the dark path I run,
Through broken glass and twisted gates.
Moans cry out in burning darkness devoid of light and ray of sun.
Love and warmth this desolate place hates.
My breath shortens and my heart starts and stops.
Only for a moment of relief my wounded soul waits.
From thought to thought my disordered brain hops.
It's chronic midnight. Will the dark really prevail?
Once again, the temperature drops.
Every passing moment I cry a desolate wail,
Hoping beyond hope the light in me can prevail.
Copyright © David Cardamone | Year Posted 2020
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