Dim candle-light, scrap paper and my pen,
Engrossed in somber shadows of the past;
Soft flickering glow, blank darkness here to fend,
Until brave dawn can rescue me at last.
Your silhouette alive in changing shapes
Slips slowly behind curtains in the room,
I drop my pen—now frantic for escape,
But where to run within this umbrous tomb?
Why must you haunt me in the still of night;
What refuge left that is but mine alone;
Can thought or prayer expunge your visage quite;
For what transgression must I still atone?
Faint strains of dawn! Redemption in the east!
‘Til night returns, when shadows rise to feast.

© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.