Thickened tendrils of agony braid through dusk undaunted,
reeled into shadows' grasp where wild things moan as they play
with their prey before the severing of life from death, their only merciful act -
unbidden, but necessary for the brutal feast to commence with its inevitable swarm.
Chaos is the only constant here,
an extraction of mere moments from unholy days,
cleft by deception's briars and mist.
A single howl tears the night's flesh
and autumn is borne into cruelty by summer's final hot breath.
We are both hunted and haunted as we tremble through this darkening valley,
terrible prayers cast upon our silent lips, vulnerable and exposed,
our bones luminescent and gleaming like a lantern
above an unexpected tavern door on a gloomy, deserted road.
We dare not cross this threshold, but press on, instead.