Eyes of the Abyss

As evenin’ creeps ever more near,
it grows all the more stark:
the crushing grip of my fear
of the deeper dark.

Then, shivering, I wait and hark,
praying that I live to hear
the call of the morning lark.

For I can feel the sear,
the burning, midnight mark,
of the hungry, hungry leer
of the deeper dark.


I am afraid.
I’m shaking,
and so weak.
All too ready to run screaming into the night
for fear of the Machiavellian shadows
around me,
beside me,
within me.
I am afraid.