Black folds of illuminated night.

Star speckled and moonlight.

Why fear a dark night?

Every sound highlights your fear!

All dark recesses hide a creature.

How these creatures lear.

Conditions ideal for their lair.

The days heat gone; chill wind a greater factor.

Abscence of daily bustle; what's the matter?

In the wind floating, fluttering debris.

Swiftly scimming the air, settling maybe.

My sight limited to a not too distance glare.

Feelings of insecurity greater, and laid bare.

What's that slinking movement at the corner of my eye?

Fragments of my imagination come to die?

Yes I saw it; the shape sneaked bye.

But it did why should I lie.

The pervading odour of fast food.

Oh! here it is; that odd shape with food for brood.

At odd establishments the smell of sweet ale.

And the lingering smell of tobacco, stale.

In the dark, taste the air pollution;

That has gathered all day in stagnation.

Burnt petrol, perspiring people, food for masses.

All is tasted in the stagnant airs gasses.

Feel the remnant of the day.

Odd, stray people trying to find their way.

Whilst the city clothes itself in its nightly mantle,

Out cries the evening; burden by its battle.

Busy city daily; manic city nightly.

Striving for better air, how the night struggled mightily.

As day and night compensated each other for, such a chaotic life.

It's daily atmosphere you could cut with a knife.

Author's Notes/Comments: 


Late gettigng home.

karlmcallister's picture

the monster under the bed

Nice twist on an old adage.  "Fragments of my imagination come to die"  Great line!  "I have seen the beast and it is us," eh? ;)

a.griffiths57's picture




Thank you for your encouraging comment, I am glad you liked my poem. Your interest is much appreciated karl Mcallister.