Tristan Robert Lange

the dark of the wight

the fire rises
into the void
 
smothered—
m
o        ward and w
l         p             i
dering u             s
                         p
                         i
                         n
                         g
  around
          like
smoke.
 
the flame produces
absolutely no light
in the abscess that is
the dark night of the
whispering wraith
within the towering,
colossal gray cathedral.
 
whilesome wights wisp
           i
                              n
                          g
             aw a  y
        any
good
 
memories.
 
skeletal christ
like a mass
     noisrevni
imp-
      los-
   ion
sucking
    like
       a
phallic
d
r
e
a
m
scape of scum
at the bottom of the drum—
 
Yo-ho-ho, my level ain’t that plum—
 
that matter grayed out,
a fact—no doubt
the fire that
produced
no light
has
 
b
e
c
o
m
e
 
a
 
hope-
less
 
wight.
 
eternal
 
night.
 
© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
First published on tristanrobertlange.com, December 3, 2025.
 
Tittu