There's a silence in the air,
a breeze that's cold and fair.
Lurking shadows stop and stare.
They cower from the light,
from the fluorescent moon, so bright.
I hear them speaking but no one's there.
The mind tries to deceive,
when it can't believe.
We know to look but we don't know where.
Figures in the night,
some almost out of sight.
They screech and cry in the frost bit air.
I wait inside my room,
inside my poorly lit tomb.
Sitting in my electric chair.
I sit and wait all night,
for something I can't find.
Sanity is out there, but where?
Copyright Barry Pietrantonio