The dull gleam of the setting sun,
Thin and feeble like feathers of birds-
Maybe of a tired avian who has forgotten to fly.
It paints the woods in the weakest shade,
Shades of yellow and shades of red.
The leaves fall, dead and dry,
They break the sacred silent peace.
I stand and hear and I shiver in fear.
It is not the fear of the blind future,
It is not the fear of the things unknown.
It is the dread of nothing
The terrifying thought of,
Absolute, dreaded, pitch black null
It haunts my truth, it strikes my mind
It molds my sanity into a copy,
A perfect copy of the dark deep space.
I see the slow approaching mist,
Deathly white and wildly soothing, like a dream,
A dream dreamt many years before.
It mutters words of darkest comforts
And sings the melody of chilling joy.
The tune of it, slow and soothing, Calls me closer.
Just like how a lullaby, uttered by a mother's lips,
Takes a child to a place of solace,
How it takes him to the caves of sleep.
I walk possessed, I walk towards the call
Cursed by the desire for warmth,
Some final warmth in the cold arms of death.
