This is a poem I wrote some time ago.
THE BEAST UPRIGHT
When I was younger,
Running with child-like pace,
Stick in hand
Scraping the fence along the way,
Harsh tones of metal on wood
Grating my ears,
I began to realise
All is not what it
Seems to be.
In my dreams,
Piercing mist and fog,
Were bogeymen,
Faces as scarred
As their minds were dark.
Black figures,
Slow and dying,
Eyes grey with a
Twitching pain.
And now as I look
At the last apple in the bowl,
Scarred skin,
Yellow with age,
Covering bruised flesh.
I know that the rot
Is flowing,
And like the apple,
This Earth,
Whose fruits it bore
Rot its skin.
And among them,
The bogeymen live,
Feeding on the rot,
Preying on the weak.
And like all before us,
We are just a dying breed,
Awaiting renewal.
We,
The beast upright,
Are a warring herd
Of animals,
Against a world
Where time is monotony.
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