A heavy and damp night fog
Settles down sagging
All the lights of street lamp posts
Along the black asphalt pathway
There are dark mirrors of dirty water
Keeping their secrets
In colorless silence.
Inside the old houses shivering
The common people
Huddle underneath their blankets
Disguised as old lumps
Worn out figures of tired souls
Too unconscious to care
About days gone cold.
The witching hour passes unseen
As poor troubled minds
See their nightmares stumble
Into haunted imagination
Praying the sandman passes by
While modern vampires and werewolves
Draw straws for violating victims.
Up above this forbidding fog
The angels who cared
Fold their wings to surrender
Any hope of protection or salvation
The fallen one comes to collect
His prizes for indifferent faces
Sleeping in open invisible hells.
I listen to the wheel of time
Within my veins pulsing
Melancholy flows slowly by
Disease and death ravage my body
Even so, my will to live remains
Though they try to block out the Sun
The night fog I breathe is fading.
Copyright © 2021 Charles Edward York
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