My poetry, page 5
Toward the night I fly
my soul a raven on the wing.
I perch upon the jagged limb
of a moss-hung tree
and gaze upon the ruins
Where, in the thunder of night's
unending reign of terror I lie alone
and dream of dark phantasms
in the caverns of my mind;
I gaze and cry aloud,
the hideous forms and shapes unending
pass before my eyes like corpses
in the night, foul fiends unburied forms decaying,
spectral images descend the darkened stairs
and gaze into my mind.