when wisps of mist wells up
like summoned by some mysterious menace
and soaring from the pits of the night
comes the blight a many scorn

stars twinkle no more
the abysmal sky now hidden from sight
and fireflies even retire
the only light haunting a night like this
are of apparitions of nightmare and the mind

still it soars closer that cursed blight
but hidden in the mists of the night
until it screeches with it’s harpy tongue
alas, it is the bat

will it transform into some monstrous beast
like a bram stoker wet dream come true
woe thee not my fearful friend
it seeks only some fruit…

*

so often we fear what we do not understand
and conjure devils from a superstitious mind
we fear nature too much
and treat her children, unjust and unkind

(c) 2015 allen simpson

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