Night closes in
tightfisted, grasping,
leaking tears from the sky
mingled with snow,
cold and deadening
of all senses, and all sense.
until we are afraid to let go.
At this hour dawn seems too far away
to make any difference at all.
Too much can happen while held tight
in night’s eerie thrall;
and bound thus, body carefully trussed,
will-power to overcome threats
has no power at all.
Words cannot fully replace fear
as unexpected threats draw near,
in dreams stuffed as pillows
embroidered by past ill deeds
viewed on media screens.
Knowing even worse lies ahead
who could remain in bed?
It used to be we welcomed each new day.
Now, we stretch out night’s hours
to avoid awakening too soon
to hear the new day’s notice of doom
spewed by text and on X
all night through.
Hate will soon raise its head, right on cue.
annarino writes 