XVIII - The Moon

This the darkest hour
Is just before
The dawn.

Here is the threshold
Of life
Of death.

The gleaming eyes
Of the silent watchers are
Bright in the darkness 

They watch my approach
With intent, their eyes shine
Red in the beam from my lantern.

The bright rays refract 
One brief second then 
Withdraw as they seal their lids and wait.

The way is long between them.
A scudding moon screams
Overhead a warning 

Its intermittent cast of light
Barely shows my way.
I have to use other senses

To negotiate
This track.  I must go on.
I cannot look back.

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