Nightmare Poetry

Across the twilight

The Nazgul flies high and shrieks

We sink low in dread

The marsh swallows us up

Like drowning wild horses deep

Above the mirk our heads

Reeds give us mooring

Keeping us from drowning too

In the mire of dead

Hours pass as we freeze

Waiting for the moon to rise

On this path we tread.

We crawl onto land

Tiptoeing into Mordor

Not a word is said.