Satin Still Finds Work For Idle Hands
Between the stairway
and the stair,
the Soul has sensed the Shadow there
reaching out from somewhere grey;
has felt the sunlight slide away.
Between the window
and the frame
has passed the Rat that has no name
to gnaw and chew and breed and tear
and take your homestead as his lair.
Between the doorway
and the porch
the Arsonist inserts his torch
to spark the threshold with his fire
and make your home your funeral pyre.
Between one thought beam
and a second
Satan’s smoky finger beckoned
and touched the Spirit’s upward flight
to charm it downwards into Night.
poem by Brian Taylor
Added by Poetry Lover
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