by beeseeker

Born, innocently enough,

In the full, clear light of day –

As simple mischiefs often are –

As sunset-shadows grew long,

It started to go a little bit wrong.

With dark-thoughts getting stronger

It got sinisterly wronger

So, when black night was longest,

Screams at their strongest

It reached dreadful-climax wrongest.



(My apologies to the grammar purists out there.)


3 Comments to “Nightmare”

  1. I understand ~but poets invent words all the time! The emotions you’re describing are like milestones and that’s hard to put together ! Wonderful !

  2. Paul i to think its fine as Deborah said inventing words is fine.

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