1. Night


They crawl out of their crannies,

They smother foes of light,

And fill the ebbing corpse-voids

With a dark and putrid night.


They hang upon the light man,

Whose tired eyes sharpen ears.

He’s once again the prisoner

Beset by sightless years.


A sigh becomes a siren,

Each whisper now a call,

A torrent of stray bullets sound

As rain begins to fall.


Battle rages onward,

Till the dying day concedes,

The wounded night is victor:

Across the sky he bleeds.


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