[A poem by Beleaguered Servant]
.
..
…
The night knows its own.
…
..
.
The night spreads out its gloomy arms
Embracing minds befogged with hate
Who linger in a shadowed world
Where sickened spirits congregate
They cannot come into the light
For to be seen is agony
The night will always welcome them
The dregs of our humanity
