The Challenge of Little Devils

In the dead and dark of night, in the time
where I recall my love for dimmed light and shadow,
I have only to fear what lurks there with me.

Awareness is but the first layer past the eye,
those same eyes that once thought the bumps in
the night to be morbid tales of fiction.

All nights are nights to be made as easy times
for the luxurious hunts, as I am worn and tired
from my fighting the day behind me.

The time in which they stalked their
food had been behind the hands of clocks,
when the sun would have revealed them in an instant.

What lurks there are abominations of many breeds,
all in the same kin, and mixed in all
the tales of horror and suspense.

Never were their names lies or metaphors
for the sake of artists...those bumps and howls
of the night are older than art itself.

They roamed this world and the next, before
the time of the most average footprints on
the earth, making themselves known subtly.

I have only them to fear, but that fear is
smothered by the remaining light in the
most open parts of these eyes.

They seek what knows them, and fear what has
the talent to hunt them. The talent has come
natural to the boy once thought a mad man.

These abominations are many and various,
but outweighed by my awareness of their enemies
that have fought them long before men walked.