My Wight

Crunch, I see a wight stall,

Apparition or angel my senses drop,

These paths I have long stopped to wander,

Yet to discern isn’t a discretionary saunter…

Reason calleth it an apparition,

Memories contend it an angel,

Pulsating from cerebral to heart,

Opening the doors, I long forgot…

All I know is to bury, bury deep,

As crawlers sheath and entwine my feet,

Willing prey to sleight of hands,

Desperation the candlelight…

Rage I want, rage I shall,

Far better than hurt,

Until the fire dies,

Someone snuffs the candlelight.

Author's Note

ignore grammar