A Dickensian Darkness

As Dickens might have written of darkness (hopefully!)

 
Light chased and scattered
In a mirror shattered…
Ink on a bleak blotter
An ebon Rorschach stain…
Dark chocolate color
Of old weathered copper
And shutters turned tight
‘gainst the night and the rain…

Ghosts rising, shining
From black, mist dusted pavement
Muffled echoes murmur…
Cries, sadly seeking replies…
From those startled spectres
From shadows into life…
That in turn offer answers
In the darkest of lies

Soon the soft brush
Of lush branches
‘gainst my windowpanes
Will become skeletal scratching
Demands…cold, dark and drear
and stained with strife
unrestrained

Could as well have been…
And very likely was, in truth
 In the candlelit gloom
an archaic dream
A Dickensian darkness
dank, dark and heartless
Such was, the velvet shroud
…It seemed…


 

Author's Note

be gentle