Lying on the bed, eyes fixed on the hands of
the clock,
I am an outsider, shadow- boxing with my stalking demons.
Soon open war replaces the shadowboxing.
My demons cackle at their vile power of
shackling me
with impunity; they pounce at flat- footed me,
slicing me with mind- boggling bravado.
Woe is me!
But with the first stirring of dawn ,
they hastily
pack their ammunition in rucksacks,
slinging them over their shoulders , and are gone ,
leaving me, battered and bruised, licking my wounds;
while they hide in crannies , sharpening
their weapons,
the fire of vengeance raging still,
encaged in their breasts,
stoked by the December chill.
Destiny Poets
Uniting and celebrating the best "Writers" and "Poetry" from around the world centred out of Destiny Church Wakefield
A visceral and thoroughly engaging work steeped in tropes that recall Hitchcock’s movies.