BY TARQUIN RAFFERTY-SUTHERLAND

The sombre full-moon peaks behind
a bloated, pitch-black cloud;
pregnant with the promise of a great down-pour.
It’s eerie glowing light filters down
and finds your face,
in the tormented twilight’s deepest, darkest hour.
…and the the blood pounds in your ears
and your subconscious fills with childhood fears;
the terror seems to make you float
and horror grabs you by the throat.
You stand, stock still,
and breathe in deep,
and gather strength to turn around –
and face the fiendish savage daemon that wants to hunt you down…
In trepidation, you slowly turn;
eyes keen to pierce the night.
You laugh and shout and stamp your feet;
and tell yourself that it’s alright:
that Monsters – and such Devilish things
to a man cannot exist!
With that you turn upon your heel
and then proceed into the mist.
But behind you – as you walk away,
befogged and crouched in dew…
Manic, Satanic, frenzied forms
DO hunger after you!