Monday, February 27, 2012

Empty Glass House

I knew a man who ran and
Hid from the
beasts beneath his bed. They
called to him
night after night, from
deep within his wounds.
They played the jukebox
in his mind, sent old
hymns like echoes
through his soul.
There was no fighting
to be had, no way
to calm those raging fiends.
It seemed the man was
trapped in a nightmare,
something more than
just a dream.
He prayed,
“Now I lay me down
to sleep, I pray my demons
remain buried deep. For if
they should surface
in the night, I shall awake with
but one thing on my mind: to
drown my fright in a glass
house they will never find.” This
was his petition, his only plea, though
every dawn the man arose
from the bottom of an
empty glass
home.

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