|RRATIONA|

[Fae Brin]

As is my wont, this is my blog and I'll use it for anything I please.

Today, in this moment, I choose to share a poem I wrote.

I don't quite remember the inspiration for this piece, but I know I had a somewhat haunted theme going on at the time.

I implore you to read this piece at a leisurely pace and let your mind wander and embrace each word. Do not read this poem; see it.

|RRATIONA|

Bolt down your windows.
Lock every door.
Try all you want,
You can’t hide anymore.

It has no name.
It has no scent.
And no one who’s seen it,
Has survived the event.

It’s the stuff of legend.
It was the first nightmare.
But it wasn’t made up,
And it’s lurking out there.

It waits for the children.
It waits for the fools.
It waits in the night,
For the breakers of rules.

Its thirst can’t be quenched.
Its hunger is never sated.
Its patience is endless, for
This is why it was created.

Don’t think for a second,
This warning isn’t true.
It’s entirely real;
And it’s coming for you.

[ctrlaltnate]

Is the "it" existentialism? If not I want it to be :)

[Fae Brin]

The thing about poetry, I find, is you get to make up a lot of stuff about what it means. -nods-