The Cold Embrace of Night
by Dawg
Night folds its chill around trembling hearts,
a black shroud clings–tight as fear’s first bite,
yet in its grasp, a paradoxical warmth starts,
the cold becomes the proving ground for light.
Breaths cloud in the moon’s implacable gaze,
shadows slip through rooms with soundless tread,
but courage, forged in darkness, sets ablaze
the icy beds where anxious doubts have spread.
Each whisper of terror in the hush of 2 a.m.
is an invitation to test the marrow’s fire,
a thousand ghosts march forth in requiem,
but are banished by the will that refuses to retire.
Let the night’s cruel clasp bear witness to defiance–
fear becomes kindling, hope the spark,
every trembling moment, a quiet alliance
with the dark’s own heart, burning ever stark.
Here, strength is not found in fleeing the unknown,
but in facing its teeth, in breathing slow and deep.
The darkest room is still a throne
for those whose faith in their own fire they keep.
Night does not vanquish the bold,
but shapes the spirit, tempers the bone–
the cold embrace, a story retold,
of triumph sown where shadows have grown.