Tristan Robert Lange
Under the Corn Moon Spell
Beneath the bright corn moon,
Covered in a black sabbath void
Clouds of coverage converge—
Merging over magnificence—
To be denied by a damnable
Destiny
Dominating dreadfully,
The...
ahhh...
feeling of flesh
fragmenting,
s t r e t c h i n g,
s h r e d d i n g,
Tearing terribly with torque,
T-tr-aaaaggghhh-trapping my soul
Within a shape-shifting
Secluder,
A predator,
A night nemesis negating the natural—
Fangs fomenting fear of
Death
e
s
t
r
u
c
t
i
v
e.
The howl is harrowing,
Its vibrato soul venom.
Paralysis sets in.
You feel it. So do I.
Death becomes you this night.
In a flashing forest of fur.
Look up—
If. You. Dare.
The moon’s red hue is no eclipse,
It’s your irises covered in blood.
© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
Originally published on tristanrobertlange.com, September 9, 2025.
Tittu
September 8, 2025
East Stroudsburg, PA