The Night

My dreams

have eaten

the dark 

holding them

is like holding 

an armful of swords

there is no comfort

to be found 

in them, they are filled

with people who

do not want to 

see me in the place

of their belonging

I’ll just be sorry again,

sorry and afraid 

that the place of illumination

will be extinguished

that the old gods 

are being run out of town 

and their followers 

thrown down to 

feed the fires,

considered wild and 

wanton and without a

moral compass

or any of the other 

excuses you can think of

to bar the door

against 

the night.