Amidst The Night

Pardon me,
I hate to be the one to rouse you from your slumber,
but do rise,
for He comes hastily with much chaos to spread;
Come hither now sweet child, no time for fear or shuffling feet,
We must ascend towards the attic’s arms,
our breathing softer than goose down,
Listen as He stirs the room, feet heavier than boulders;
His scent thick like molasses of the spiced rum He’s consumed;
Hide away here for the night, worry not of the shadows,
for each night occurring after will be met with my misty presence,
as I’ll slip away from my lonely slab tucked deep within the forest graves.