Night Falls by Tod Robbins

Night falls,

then recedes,

mourning sleepless darkness.

€œTempt me not, € saith the Lord God.
The spire’s skeleton reaching upward like a plea for shielding.

May is a slight way,

April an end to Chillihuani

March a crimson memory,

February a bursting crag,

and January a duality of whiteness.

Morning rises,

then proceeds,

mourning spiritual atrophy.


Tod Robbins was born in Salt Lake City, Utah, and now lives in the greater Seattle area where he attends the University of Washington’s Information School, studying library and information science. His poetry is peculiar like his worldview. He is an advocate for cooperative living, gardening, bicycling, and anything else that inspires one to love, to serve, and to build a community. Collections of his verse will be available on his personal website shortly:

To read more of Tod’s writing on WIZ, go here, here, here, and here.

*contest entry*


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