A/N: happy belated Hallow's Eve, if you celebrate it!
a coruscation of darkness
.
"do you not know that the night is alive?"
.
"allow me to enlighten you."
.
shift,
scattered shards of the nocturne:
in despairing melancholia, a measured cantata to its accompanying sonata, what a dangerous dance you dare waltz.
oh, flaring coattails like plumes of silent smoke, sabled silk set against somber stygian-eldritch aberrations turning in ominous circles of the long-forsaken cobbled pave-stones at the ungodly hour--(a wicked chiaroscuro, wolves among acquiescent sheep) -he is their sovereign, and they, his shackled adherents, a contract formed, scrawled in a signature of haematic hue,
what a beautiful red.
slow, measured footsteps, tailored to his own tune.
a widening smile-keener than edges of shards-shattered glass (a coruscating madness uneclipsed by gloaming) not quite whole--viperous in such a capricious nature.
he turns, pivoting upon heel in a sudden, sharp motion (the shadows shift in wary ambivalence, unsure whether in preparation to answer his call) as if in response to perhaps a fabrication upon his imagination.
(it's not really paranoia if there is a bounty upon your name and hounds on your trail, the men in swift pursuit of the eternally elusive man-he, himself-but they would never take him alive)
the oil lamps, feeble and sputtering weak waxy-yellowed radiance-as they already had been in a neglected state for quite a while, the kind that a man of the nightwatch had fallen asleep in negligence of his duty and conveniently "forgotten" to relight, flickered-once, twice, trice-before the light was softly cast into nuances of dusk.
thousands upon thousands of eyes, blinking in unison-slitted pupils of abominations haphazardly stitched upon an infinite expanse of spilt ink (seamless)--
just a moment of an adolescent's callous cavalier can set off what lies within the void of night.
remain vigilant, for what lies within the depths of darkness-if you do not take caution-can swallow you whole.
(be well aware: the shadows are watching.
.
.
always.)
YOU ARE READING
a litany of ruminations
Poetry{poetry collection} s c a t t e r e d dreams and drifting thoughts, oh, not everything is what it seems... (not necessarily from my own thoughts)
