(A/N: First stab at something more serious fantasy, rather than the random whimsey I've been throwing around. Let me know what you think!)
***
For most, the night is time for sleeping,
for shutting out the darkness creeping.
But stirring in the dusk forsaken,
only then do the watchers awaken.
When daytime revelers withdraw
to snugly rest in evening's maw,
we don our armor, draw it tight,
and begin our vigil for the night.
For we are the coven of the bowers,
the council of the witching hours:
The sentinels to keep at bay
the monsters hiding from the day.
Confined to night's primordial gloom,
these ancient beasts resent their tomb.
So under every midnight's cloak
they rage against their captive choke.
In shadows, silent war we wage
to keep the demons in their cage
so that you daytime dwellers see
another day to live carefree.
We battle fiends of times forgone
to preserve the ignorance of the dawn.
Unaware of your bloody crowns
you live your lives on battlegrounds.
For us, the ones born to the night,
our work is never done, not quite
completed, only paused and then
the day goes by and starts again.
But do not pity us, the ones
who protect your daughters and your sons.
We do not want your morning dew
nor dazzling green or brilliant blue.
For ours are paths of hardship won
without the light of any sun.
So take your days, they're yours to keep—
the nighttime is our own to reap.
YOU ARE READING
Counting Down the Days
PoésieIt is the summer before I leave for college, and I am staring into the empty abyss before me, wondering what to do with my life. In this collection, I am challenging myself to write something every day (now adjusted to every 2-3 days). I may write p...