Sitting here, on the floor of my room
Alone, as the night closes in all around
Thoughts often stray to the darkest places
As if one with the shadows all around

I fear, though what I fear, I also fear to say
To name that dread thing which lingers just
Beyond the borders of my sight in odd hours
When perhaps I ought to let sleep guard me

The hours keep on creeping along, like drops
Of a cosmic singing burst out across time
No hour meant for life, or death to be alone in
No better rhyme than this to put to poem then