UNTITLED

I'm a bungling poet. I'll appreciate comments. Thanks.

The night has crept in, stealthily.
The moon has hidden its face
and the sky has closed its millions of eyes
while we conceal our sin
under the blanket of darkness.

The wind speaks in a hushed voice --
the stillness of the night
seems to warn us
and so we stifle our moans.

Suddenly, the rain pours
but it does nothing
to douse the flames
that consume us.