Night’s Veil and the Wicked One Hundred
by Patrick Pomeroy
She left her office
In the kind of dark
Only a cat-fight might know.
Shocked by the brilliant day
And what was real to her.
A hundred people with their
Saturating her with grievances
No lover’s hands or drink
Could empty her conscience
To break free from the
madness that was her day.
A hundred blighted souls
grabbing as if blinded and
forgotten. Her air sucked away
by their fury.
She hurriedly meditated to stave
off the demons that returned again
and again…savages in her nights.
Her soul a freighter’s hull crashing
into boundless fright….
When all the day’s work rolled into
one came bursting forth in one torrid
That night she managed just one brave smile
knowing soon there would be light.