Now I’m sick of writing love poems,
And to celebrate the new year
I’ll forget all talk of Christmas,
And I’ll write you one of fear.
How low and sallow fingers reach
At the turning of the day
And stupefied with terror
The child had no more to say.
They ran! My word they ran so far
But they were pursued, wherever they were.
Thus wherever they went, wherever they are
In the deepest pit or amongst the stars,
The Darkness pursued them and in their horror
They sought to slay themselves and end it.
And there the tale finishes, for there the child did vanish –
At times, we must concede, there are too few ways to Darkness banish.
A nice, happy poem to welcome you into the new year. I hope you don’t mind. It’s actually given me an idea for writing a longer-form poem on the blog – but I’d like to hear what you thought of this one.
The Hapless Neo-Romantic