rhyme or reason, Dear God
I sit here and wonder why I sit here and Satan howls outside.
I’ve nothing but my battered will
An armrest at the windowsill
Another day
To waste away
The headstone shapes on yonder hill
Dear God, where are you? The day has grown cold, the sky wondrously dark. The wind has lifted to an infernal, incessant howling. I want to be away from this house on the rocks by the sea, to swallow back the words that pour out of me.
For it is only a pen, and a vision. Dear God.
Words.
About the Author
Darren Speegle's fiction has sold to such publications as Chiaroscuro, Flesh and Blood, Fangoria Frightful Fiction, and Verte Brume: The Anthology of Absinthe. A Dirge for the Temporal is his second short story collection. The first, Gothic Wine, was released in June 2004 by Aardwolf Press.
Darren lives in Germany with his wife, Julie, and their two daughters, who are in the German educational system and are called upon more than they like to act as translators for their parents. When he is not pounding his head on the keyboard, Darren enjoys biking and hiking and experiencing Europe by its less beaten paths.
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