the wordlinks poetry project

darkling wood ix

I look at them and try to know, but know not if they’re there, or there, or if they’re anywhere at all. I fight my way past fear and terror; mere gloom has long since changed to black, but yon ahead ‘tis light. A thin, wan beam creeps down among the thin, dark twigs and leaves above — vast aeons must its journey be — and throws a pallor over all, giving darkness once again its dusk-accustomed shape.  *

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