The Howling
They howl at the bitter darkness
Down the valley
Echoes on the canyon walls
Inside comes the searing quickness
So precisely
The lingering debacle
Their words cut to the quick and bleed
To the sentence
The midnight poets wail in vain
Be indwell, the knife comes to feed
The erubescent epode
The epiphany, pain
They, standing fast until first light
Interspersion
Deep within the planisphere
Their tetrasyllables of the night
In retribution are
Just the paraselene
poem by Midnights Voice
Added by Poetry Lover
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