The hopeful remains of a midnight pyre,
stave the darkness,
forfend the fright,
of a black and soundless obscurity wavering at the fringes of a faint and fading light.
an embers glow,
fights the death of sight,
fights with waving streaks of bright,
the shadows, on their long and twisted fingers
slinking on the forest floor,
reaching to snuff one flame living in the presence of nothingness,
denying the weight of eternity
with the whims that dreams inspire,
inasmuch as the capricious flame does wander.
A singular entity of blackness creation,
creeps at the edges where the vibrant sphere evokes dominion.
Every crackle, every spark the fire issues,
illumination counters and bays the shadow demons,
which relent; a swift and hideous repulse;
the creature ghastly grimaces.
A wind carries sharply its message, a hienous shriek
and attacks with breathful whispers the fires waning fleet,
of travelling orbs,
tendering their tiny hopes to a Plutonian night
it did hungrily consume.
The potent source ever failing,
the vital sphere cut down in twane;
two fangs of darkness strangled the light in the mouth of a great and sightless serpent;
and when the last twinge of flame expires,
and the final sulking ember vainly falters;
night comes to gravely settle,
as surety consigns, to die,
these forlorn hopes aborning.