a poem i wrote last year about monsters.. but real ones.


1. Monsters.

To the young, they are terrible,
they are huge,
they are evil.
They haunt the darkest depths of closets and await the curious caution of children's limbs to reach, searching into the perilous depths of under-bed. Claws that shine and scar like knives pierce the innocent dreams of the young and create nightmares that penetrate even the brightest corners of the mind. Ever lasting, always evil.


To the grown, they are blurred,
they are faded,
they are nothing.
They are pathetic inventions of fear made only to force the young into obedience. The writhing tentacles and ferocious teeth wither and wilt over time leaving only ashes and dust... Less than a memory of their former glory. The grown are fearless warriors trained to slay bringers of chaos and nightmares and are now immune to threats of claws and teeth.
Ignorant and blissful.


To the wise, they are alive,
they are real,
they are everywhere.
They hide in the souls of the living, reach through to the earthly realm and invoke chaos and havoc upon the universe. They are born into the world unseen and silent, growing and manifesting in secret behind the skin of the good. Most times vanquished with spears of kindness and goodwill but sometimes not. Sometimes they mature into evil beings, once cadged but now free to destroy life. They are the monsters inside.

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