The TunnelDark and ferociously cold,
I walk each night home
Through the tunnel of demons.
Acid water from the walls and
Putrid smells discarded by man
mingle with fading scents
of the park I leave behind.
As I enter deeper I feel shadows
brush against me,
Coy and whispering,
It must be the wind but it may not be.
Regressed memory flashes of bogiemen,
Vampires and demons
From old horror movies
Persist to taunt my fingers to clench
Tighter than my teeth.
The fist in my chest shuts out the whispering.
The end of the tunnel emerges no cliched light
But the pine scented cape of the blackened park.
I breathe freer as I leave behind
The demons in the tunnel
And greet my ever constant
Who's name is Discontent.
Poetry by vicky vixen
Read 804 times
Written on 2005-12-01 at 17:46
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