Whispers in the Dark

Demon on my left, demon on my right, They linger in the edges, just out of sight. Whispers in the dark, where the shadows grow, They feed on the doubts I refuse to show. The air is heavy, thick with despair, A weight on my chest, too much to bear. Fear claws at my mind, its talons sharp, A silent tune, played on a broken harp. The shadows dance, a mocking display, They stretch and bend, keeping light at bay. I reach for something, for someone, for air, But the void answers, and nothing is there. Uncertainty walks with a cold, steady stride, A phantom companion I cannot hide. Its voice is quiet, but its presence loud, Weaving its threads through the darkest cloud. Yet still, I stand though my legs shake, Each step forward feels like a mistake. But what is the choice, to give in, to decay? Or to stumble and fall, and rise anyway? The demons may linger, the shadows may stay, But light can still grow at the break of day. For even in fear, there's a flicker, a spark, A tiny rebellion against the dark.