The darkest of skies
bring forth creatures of
inhumanity. From us they feed,
terror, sorrow, misery.
With their bottomless pits
that straddle the nose,
drawing us out, drinking us in. The
enchantment unbreakable.
Control is theirs alone, yes
they know. They hold the chips,
deciding out fates.
So we hide.
Yet from the screech of death
we cannot escape.
The sealing of ears does not suffice,
the horror penetrates the thickest of barriers.
Cowering, we wait
and watch the shadows
of these wingéd frights,
circling overhead in the hunt
to feed. Searching carefully
for a meal; for us. Until finally
the darkest of skies begin to lighten. The
damnedest of beings flee to their shelters,
fearing for their lives. And
should the young wake and see,
these creatures of death, would be to end
the airborne demons.
Fore it is the innocence of a child so small,
that they dare not corrupt.
