Cold Side of Hell

There’s an hour

Which falls open

At some point past

Midnight…

Blacker than all

Definitions, dim color

Nothing poetic as

“Shadow”…

Its blackness is deeper

Relentlessly harsh as unyielding

Stone wall; waning moon wears

A caul…

Perhaps unacknowledged

Unspoken, night reflects great

Abyss; the opposite, cold side

Of hell…

Bleak darkness, mind’s

Corridor cellar steps creaking

The Undead returning to

Torment…

Rumination on wrongs which

Have left unseen scars, and

Vengeful retorts tongue would

Taste like liqueur

Spitting barbs between

Words deftly swirled with

Sweet cream…

Unlit hours rife—unleashed spiraling

Madness—spark fear of glimpsed evil (a

Near-recognized changeling); demand

I slink by, shun all mirrors— For, this

Chill ember cannot be my soul

Redeemed…

Lord, send quickly wash of sleep,

Pure balm of Holy Spirit’s rest.

©Jael Sook, 2017 All rights reserved.

Image credit: Pixabay

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