Upon the canvas of the midnight black,
A choir of screams that chill the very spine.
In echo's grip, a terror does unpack,
Its haunting melody devoid of time.

Each cry, a dagger in the velvet night,
A symphony of fear that rends the air.
The moon, a ghostly witness to the fright,
Reflects a world ensnared in deep despair.

Yet stars, those cold and distant points of light,
Ignore the earthly pleas of mortal plight.
They whisper not of comfort, nor of right,
In the cold theatre of the endless night.

So screams are swallowed by the void's cruel might,
Lost forever in the dead black night.
© nm