Crouched
Halloween came late this year,
leaves tearing in an orange wind, rain
plowing the sullen sky,
uncertainty cutting its teeth
on empty, cracked branches. Not far from
Thanksgiving, except for the finger on the trigger
of the most awful atom.
Unleashing from the nightmare
not guaranteed.
Waking just as
frightening as sleeping.
This dream is
real,
the tentacles rooted
in our choices and
goodness, never wanting to suppose evil could be so profound.
All monsters take others down.
Winter holds no celebrations now, no redemptions.
Violence simmers below
the waters' surfaces.
We're not ready.
Neither
is earth.
Susan Beverly is a frequent poetry and
fiction contributor to Ariel Chart.
an avarde garde experiment gone right. we do not see enough of this type of risk.
ReplyDeleteThank you!
Deletesometimes the usual structure takes away from the element of literary surprise. happy to see and hear something off the beaten track.
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