Down, down the night

This is a dark house, dripping.
Inch by inch from a quiet finger
Into a puddle, a bag of gloom;
Shadowed mists move over,
Their nostrils breathing the bowel
Of the night, a quite dark black.

It is warm and tolerable in the smell
Of my sleep; I embellish myself in
Night sweats, peeling my skin like
Black amnesia. I crawl into a lonely
Corner, my mouth licks the darkness;

Negligible starlight pours through a
Window like an old heavy press;
Moley-handed, I push it aside in the
Stony hole of night. Yet, its radiance
Scathes me. Diminished, I am inhabited
By tears. How my bad dreams endow me.

Copyright © 07/23/2019 lance sheridan®

Down, down the night

This entry was posted in Poetry.

13 comments on “Down, down the night

  1. ❦Kara❦ says:

    Dark and dreary but so damn beautiful. 💕

  2. weedjee says:

    When I read the poem… dancing in the dark and reminiscent from irish John Connolly… dark could be a nice colour

  3. Very dark expressive poem.

  4. Marta Pinhao says:

    ¡Me mata tu imaginación! Abrazote.

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