In the Murk of the Woods

Mon, 04/30/2018 - 13:35 -- Erysian



There are things impossible, things unseen

In the darknesses between each sunbeam,

Nameless shadows, and wordless paths

Spun together in covering laths


They watch and they wait

Soundless and filled with hate

As they linger upon the veil 

Hoping to follow into the sunlit dale


They are the silent, dark things

Indescribable, thoughtless beings

That cause us to shiver, to turn away

When we leave the murk of the woods and enter day.

This poem is about: 
Our world


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