Here is the first poem for my next collection. Called The Grip of Darkness.
Shadows slither along the cold, cracked wall,
Whispering secrets that threaten to fall.
No matter how fiercely we fight or pray,
They linger in darkness, never going away.
Their hope is eternal, their grip is tight,
Haunting our souls in the dead of night.
Copyright 04/02/2026
~P.C. Snider
