Morning

In the shadows of the night, where darkness creeps and crawls,
Lurks a fear, that never sleeps, it haunts and enthralls,
The mind and soul, with tales untold, of horrors yet to come,
Of creatures, that roam and roam, in the never-ending gloom.

The wind whispers, secrets lost, in the sighs of the trees,
Of the beast, that haunts the night, with a deafening growl, that sets you free,
Of the curse, that plagues the land, with a touch so cold and true,
Of the horrors, that never rest, in the midnight dew.

The moon rises, full and bright, as the shadows gather round,
With a feeling, so intense, that the heart begins to pound,
And the fear creeps in, like a thief, in the night so still and calm,
With a touch, so cold and cruel, like a knife, so sharp and warm.

The night is alive, with a sound, so low and so grim,
With a whisper, so soft and sweet, it sends shivers down your skin,
And the fear grips you, with a hold, so strong and so tight,
And you run, and you run, but you can never take flight.

The storm rages, with a force, that bends the trees and breaks,
The sky is alive, with a light, that flickers and shakes,
And the thunder roars, like a beast, so fierce and so wild,
And the rain falls, like tears, from the sky, so desolate and mild.

The darkness creeps, with a pace, that is slow and so sure,
And the shadows dance, with a grace, that is both elegant and obscure,
And the fear grips you, with a hold, so tight and so real,
And you know, you can never escape, the horrors that you feel.

In the darkness of the night, where the horrors never sleep,
Lurks a fear, that never dies, it haunts you in your dreams,
And you pray, to the gods above, to set you free from this pain,
But the fear creeps in, like a thief, and it haunts you, again and again.