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Rated: E · Poetry · Death · #1997163
Dark souls haunt the storm
Stygian Souls

As the sun sets in the west,
I watch the ominous clouds approach.
The skies begin to threaten
the peace of the night,
and wipe out the light
of the stars.

In the descending gloom,
the wind blows
across my face,
sending a supernatural chill
down my spine.

I feel the stygian presence
of restless souls,
jealous of my freedom and light.

The roiling clouds
transmute and contort
into the tortured faces
of the damned,
condemned to an eternal darkness.

As the thunder roars their anger,
the sky weeps
their petulant tears.

And I know I am not alone.

*Bookopen* Stygian: infernal; hellish

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