The Enemy
My fears are real but I cannot see them
Hidden in subtle disguise
My deepest fears they flood my thought as soon as I close my eyes
I can only feel them. Not touch nor taste
Believe they are intense, all the more
An aura of toxic waste
They degrade and corrupt my feeble little mind
They rot my thought.
They burn
They grind
They inspire a new-found hate
But it is not a hate for my fears, no my fears are justified
Not a hate for my thoughts not one for my mind.
My hate is bound for only one thing
The creator of my fears
I am the enemy.
YOU ARE READING
A Little Poetry Can't Hurt
PoetryThis is just some random poems that I have written over the years.
