The terrifying chronicle of one misty morning

These silhouettes, oh what they shall be!

Creatures birthed from the dim and the dark,

they wringed the terrors out like sharks.

The darkness souped to give them form

and the rains and thunder did conform.

Me? I'm alone amidst the storm

when they confront me, my monsters, to inform.

The monsters of night, of secrets kept;

of all the dismal things you'd expect.

Sinister, yes; but personal yet.

the ghosts of pasts in vengeance wept;

for there are monsters

beneath our roads well set.

They sleep beneath in detest

the calm; before the tempest.

They be my monsters,

the revenants of the grave

for my past I digged.

Teeth and bone, for my being they crave.

Here are the monsters of my own making

but just or unjust; I shall do the raking.

And thus charged at me the fears that haunted my waking

scathed and sliced, bleeding, I barged

The scent of blood did their frenzy fill;

tearing mouths on their noggin

did they move in for the kill

My sanity cracked, and creatures let loose

creatures so gruesome

to flea, fear itself chose.

The monsters I made

I know how to kill

But these were creatures 

with no rhyme or will

Born of imagination, strange they were

no code nor intend with the kin they share

In the most ethereal dance I've ever seen,

they haunted the monsters down to their knees

and sucked the soul out of their soulless beings

And so did pass that fateful night

and all that was left were scars and screams;

and black and cold and a horrific fright

Psychedelic nightmares with an iridescent sheen

The veins are pumping just the cold

but the wounds shall heal, cause

there are no more monsters old.

I sat up, my blood outside

as the sun rose out from the red red sky

The mist soothed both the grass cut fresh

and the weeping torn open flesh

I was sliced and scratched, too many to count

but not a single wound to be found

The warmth of sun did magic wield

All the wounds that never were, healed

and formed were scars that never will be.

I sat alone, above on that hill

on that misty morning with a triumphant will

And a little girl walked up behind me

in vibrant clothes and voice shrill,

she told me "it's time we go"

I did not resist; did not slow

Together we went; 

and then, came the snow

read an illustrative version of this work

here