They say the dark is something to dread,But what could it hide? Shadows or dread?As I linger in this cavern of thought,Echoes ricochet, racing through my head,I’ve never feared the night’s velvet shroud,Yet alone, my mind becomes a stormy cloud.
What if the real fear isn’t the dark,But the whispers it breeds—an insistent spark?I strike a match, a fragile flame flickers,Illuminating shapes, my heart quickens,Creatures emerge from the depths of my mind,Waiting, watching, with they’re not so kind eyes.
Yet, my legs turn to stone, my breath caught in air,I meet their gaze, a twisted affair.The match sputters out, leaving me blind,What now, in this silence, will I find?The creatures dissolve, just shadows of thought,Leaving echoes of fears I never fought.
Were they real, or mere tricks of the light,Illusions that dance in the breadth of the night?I sit in my room, the dark’s not so bleak—Is this what they mean by being weak?Afraid of the quiet, the void’s cruel embrace,Clawing for solace, for a familiar face.
I’ve never feared darkness, until I was shown,It’s not the shadows, but the seeds I’ve sown.Now I tremble alone, wondering what’s next,What will my mind conjure, what trick, what text?The true darkness lies not in the absence of light,But in the labyrinth of thoughts that claw at my sight.
