Poetry + A Riddle

Please enjoy these random assortment of syllables which may or may not form meaningful words in some language or another.

Even This Will End

Even the night must sigh
—The dreams run farther now—
and perish quietly.

Even the day will end
—the visions grow stronger—
and shout in its despair.

Even the stars must cease
—I’ve seen what happens then—
and dimmed, the moon grow black.

Even the sun will burst
—that’s how I’ve seen it start—
and let us die alone.

Riddle time below:

Well, I’ve tried my hand again at writing a simple riddle. I still fear Batman would solve this one too easily. Perhaps I’ll send it to the boy-wonder instead.

Visitor in the night,
A plague of death, am I.
My face I cannot see.
Presence invited in.
I sleep the day away,
Refreshed by ruddy streams.
Exhumed, I am known.

 

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