Tread carefully the underside of dawn

where claw-like brush snatches at your feet,

where ghosts of deeds long dead still haunt,

and monsters stalk, ravenous for meat.

The darkness crawls like spiders for your soul,

to catch and wrap you deftly in its lies.

Beware the fangs that draw the life out, whole;

and do not drift to goblin lullabies—

for they would woo and take you with their wrong

as if the day lay buried, cold and still.

But in your heart you bear the truest song,

a flame the darkest shadow cannot kill,

and it does not become the child of light

to reach the morning drenched in starless night.