There’s something strange,
A little weird.
An air,
A haze,
A certain flair.
It’s confusing,
And amusing,
But it’s making me deranged!
I see nothing but a haze,
And the hair on my neck is raised.
A painful confusion.
A shaking realism.
So tense I feel I could slice it with a blade.
There’s an air of strange.
Like the seeds of a story.
– A beginning untold–
I see it’s too easy,
A peace way to old.
Even as my thoughts do grow weary,
I do grow every more bold.
This air of strange
So pure and so forlorn to us all,
That we have forgot how to change
And that shall be man’s very downfall.
This air of strange,
Captivating and different,
To it, no one’s indifferent,
All abound with fear,
And I’ll never escape it here.
YOU ARE READING
Within the Catacombs of the Soul
Short Story"They who dream by day are cognizantof many things which escape those who dream only by night." Edgar Allan Poe. A collection of short stories and poems written over the years by Alexis Pool.
