Strange that the Night, whose delight is fright
is nothing without a little light.
They work in concert you see, tricking your sensibility.
Tis light that creeps and weeps in crevices and corners deep.
Halos the wicked. Disturbs your sleep.
First one and then the other, lucid thought and courage smothered.
The dark appears, it sneers and jeers, taunting you with fervid fears.
Till eagerly you flick a switch, to confidently banish pitch.
Contrary light, glows bright its might betrays as it restores your sight.
You see it coming. You try to hide.
And conscious of irony, close your eyes.
-AE, October 2016