The Monsters Don't Always Come at Night
Bloodshot eyes force-open wide
by loud whispers, sharp distant cries
Clock reads 8, there hath be light
But psyche is dark, like the dead of night
Sing sweet nightingale high above
Chase them furies with songs of love
Embrace myself with cold sweat arms
Sweet, sweet nightingale turns ravens swarm
Run commands myself to me
But nowhere I can go to flee
Clock says 8 30, where is the light?
Why is it night in broad daylight?
Photo taken using Sony Alpha 5n in ambient light
's Steemit Poetry Contest themed 'Night'.