The darkness, the silence eerily make noise,
When stars, the cricket make heard their voice.
The calm, the peace is disturbed often,
To blow their cover when mysteries threaten.

Brings along with itself the night,
Some phenomena awe striking sans light, 
Both of terrifying ghosts and skin-eating bats, 
Of hard working moths and of owls that prey on rats.

The dark aids the shady, the ones with agendas twisted,
For the unknown's fear is in the mind, so naturally created.
Ghosts and spiritualism find best this time,
For of light and hope, the supernatural don't care a dime.

The fainthearted, the scared, never wander alone,
For seldom does it bring assurance or soothing cologne.
The depressed, the lost this time they favour,
For must an introvert talking to himself he prefer.

Seldom though realised it is,
That loneliness can be one's bliss.
To think life through and question choices,
To hold on, to survive, not give in to the voices.  

From propagating dark magic to concealing thieves,
Spoilt is its name, even just the rustling of leaves!
Concentration, loneliness, but combined at this hour, 
Lead to success and raise the bar.

This time that is despised upon, 
This period hesitantly relied upon. 
Has nature produced something sinister?
Or just beauty masked as a twister?

For the nature that produced the hare, 
Has bred dangers very rare.
Indeed needless is the pessimism rife.
It's time to ponder over the choices of life,

For we may have been hating on a beautiful phenomenon, 
Merely the blindness suggesting ideas of a demon.
Or is it true ghosts prevail in darkness,
And negativity is all that you witness?