premptive intution, don't blame me, its my superstion that supercededs your beliefs
culted heart, cultivated to bow to the dark whom I'm patterned after
the dark was alive, with feeling before light came into play
there are rich cultures of darklings
made manifest, you encounter them but refuse to see
all the better, I will write this, and even as you read
my words will become fuzzy, and you will forget them
lingers the seed, thoughts rise, and you fear suddenly
it’s just the dark pressing in on you
daylight is deceptive; the horde haunts even the loveliest afternoons
I’m a believer, a strange receiver of vital information
rotating on the axis of evil
my face is seen on the radar, then dismissed
Powerfully penned, Brenda. Another excellent write with amazing storytelling my friend. Nicely done. Appreciate you.
Damian