In the darkness of the hollow,
In the wistful of the day,
Comes a gnashing of the Daemon
And the trouncing of the Bay.
Leaves a mark upon the features;
Plants a hook into the soul.
Wants for loathing or self-hatred -
Wants for wrecking of the lull.
Choose the sinews of the monster -
Horse of death, devoid of light.
If you mount its mangy hackles
It will drag you into night.
Little solitude can linger
At a time depression fraught.
Either gallops gloom of gloaming
Or a crafty concept caught.
Makes for drowsy or for writing.
Curl it in or fight it out:
Tender tears to taint and tarnish,
Fiendish fierceness flail and flout.
Choose the dark and dangerous Daemon -
Vapor’s Muse of shadow’s glare.
Touch its fissured flesh of genius,
Share its mind, but have a care.
Whirling skirmish with a dark muse.
Wrestling pen, now paper stained.
Bleeds a vicious prose or poem;
Heals the heart and mind, once pained.