When the bright light dims
out comes the creations who cry
for the battles long lost.
With bitter words and salty tears
a power that destroys within
they keep alive the fading memories.
They roam around alleys so dark
that the living despise the stench of old dusty stories
keeping me up all night.
Papyrus fly into a boiling pot
making a concoction so feared
for not them it is made
but for me.
The memories play like
scenes I dread to see
that make my blood rush.
It is no creature that haunts me
But my very own thoughts
That appear as my living nightmare...
~jase
YOU ARE READING
Trepidation
Poetry[poetry collection] To fear is normal, to overcome is extraordinary.
