Dead of the night

Consume by the night.

 DEAD OF THE NIGHT

Bending toward the void, you can hear crickets chirping beneath the scattered stars. Darkness swallowed their faint chorus up as the clock ticked with a final warning. The hills bear witness to the weight of the night, resting in borrowed time. Lands holding us as we pause,

Crossing over a fragile bridge.

Binding us to its presence, being led as blind men on a tightrope.

Our lives unravel, thread by thread.

Who are we? We can’t tell that darkness has consumed us beneath the mask we wear.

This is our night confession, 

Unwinding the threads of life; in the dead of the night: exposing who we now stripped of pretense, night becomes light. As it is cryptic and envelops us, shadows merge into the dead of the night; we vanish.

Author's Note

Nowhere to run when nighttime comes.