the dark of the wight

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the fire rises
into the void

smothered—

m
o      ward and w
l      p        i
dering u	s
		p
		i
		n
		g
	   around
      like
smoke.

the flame produces
absolutely no light
in the abscess that is
the dark night of the
whispering wraith
within the towering,
colossal gray cathedral.

whilesome wights wisp
                    i 
		   n
		 g
	 aw a  y
     any
good

	        memories.

skeletal christ
		like a mass
        noisrevni
imp-
    los-
	ion
	   sucking
        like
     a
phallic
d
r
e
a
m
scape of scum
at the bottom of the drum—

Yo-ho-ho, my level ain’t that plum—

that matter grayed out,
a fact—no doubt
the fire that
produced
no light
has

b
e
c
o
m
e

a

hope-
less

wight.

eternal

night.

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
First published on tristanrobertlange.com, December 3, 2025.
 
Tittu