Gentle dangers
in the dead of night

Speak pleasantly
till all's not right

Soothsaying beasts
of no taxonomic order

Ravage our dreams
at our weakest border

Try to hither and halt such a
nasty scheme

Allows doom to convalesce
as the demon's eyes gleam

Better to walk with the creature,
play with it in jest

Embrace its ghoulish features,
but never let it get the best

Alloy once turned to gold,
so lay Reason down to rest,

That an enemy becomes an ally
at the soul's behest.

I don’t understand these days,
the poetry I speak,

Or value my inner author
enough to strive for literary peaks,

And yet, here I am
writing about my writing still-

Words won and lost
with the drop of my quill,

A ballpoint pen
to be more exact,

But who in my journal
is in need of such facts?