Late August - poem

As nights cool darkness finds you,
and mysteries of mortality creep in,
surround you,
that beseeching hollow refrain about your paltry worthiness,
resonates as an awful tightening
rendering you stunned and stricken.
What wonders are there still to be played out?
If any.

Troubling accounts of destiny,
wrestle in your chest,
welt the heart like a whip,
while morbid fingers pull on your dreams at night,
shifting shadows haunt your deeds done.
Sleep anyway, night brings the cool,
the paradox,
and the rest.