you picked a fight

last night. and right

away I knew, sight

unseen, your bite,

like your bark, might

be worse than sleight

meant to excite.

those who delight

in keeping tight

eye on full fright

triggered by blight

have no foresight.

it’s not alright

when you invite,

most impolite,

a parasite

into our rite.

your acts incite

disdain; no white

flag stirred invite

in me tonight.

an erudite

would find no plight

to fear despite

sparks to ignite

a long, swift flight.

at dawn’s grey light –

you’ll find me quite

gone. Not in spite,

but set to write

a wrong.

His rite,

Pulling himself to the height

So he could see the sight

That left so many in fright. 

But, it was the slight

Movement towards the light

That turned his rite to shite.

Wedged within boulders so tight

Breathing became a fight.

He struggled with his might,

But the boulder on the right

Refused to help his plight.

He would have no limelight.

He wouldn't make it to midnight.

Juliet thought he'd be alright,

Despite not being very bright.

Now, in an unknown site,

He understands the night.

In the middle of the night,

my dreams take flight,

soaring to crazy heights,

high like a kite,

into the sky so bright,

shining with supernatural light;

oh my, what crazy sights.

And then, I take a nocturnal bite,

like something sweet, pure delight,

much much better than just alright,

designed to taste buds excite.

Other times, nightmares blight

my nightly landscape, giving me a fright,

possibly landing in a fight,

maybe from some otherworldly spite

with a malevolent sprite,

for some wrong, some slight,

but whatever is the plight,

I battle with all my might;

the evil ones, I do smite,

until from my slumber I alight.

Come morning, in the flourescent white,

about such journeys, I write,

though it may be trite,

I think it turns out tight.

'Tis right, 'tis right,

Quite.