The stories aren’t new.
Not new anymore.
Don’t shock like they did.
Don’t shock anymore.
Drawn out of the past.
Dusty books on shelves.
Somewhere, yes; not here.
Never close. Never real.
Not anymore.
How?

We buried the dark,
The monsters.
Turns out it’s stubborn.
Iron.
Civilized, we thought.
And better, we thought.
But now this is home.

This is home.
The monsters
We never thought we’d meet.
That read like fiction
Until you saw them
In bright and flashing
Colors on your screen.
That rob your sleep and
Leave a hole where
Hope
Lived inside your head.
Where peace lived, and trust.

The dark, the monsters
Have become home.
Somehow.
Something now.
Somewhere near.
Too close. Too real.
How?

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *