Art and the philosophy of life

Monsters, a poem

empty street between buildings during night time

this is where the monsters live
in the shadows
in the doorways
in the alleys
in the darkness
they come out at night
because that’s
when they can see us
when they can smell us
when they can count our heartbeats
and taste our fear
night
is when the monsters
come out to play
just a friendly
reminder

 

Photo:  Morica Pham
Unsplash

Comments on: "Monsters, a poem" (6)

  1. Timothy Price said:

    There are still monsters under my bed. Have you read “Where the Wild Things Are” by Maurice Sendak?

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