Firey is the night,
its crisp tendrils reaching for fear,
licking the rim of souls dear.
Shadows in motion,
ever so near.
I see you in the gray spaces,
the colorless portions of night.
Hiding amidst the blackened bush,
readying your prey to strike…
But Your confidence belies you friend,
for as I come near,
you shall learn that in the end
’tis you who should fear…
© 2014 John Allen Richter