The fire of vengeance

 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.

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