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Terror in the Night

Unpleasant Dreams

By Arthur ArmstrongPublished 5 months ago 1 min read
Terror in the Night
Photo by Tahiro Achoub on Unsplash

I can hear them howling.

The rabid wolves of late.

They sneak into the darkest room

And change another’s fate.

They crawl and creep

While we all sleep

And then they pounce and kill.

But now I’m going to stop their hate and make them forever still.

No longer will they haunt the streets

With their hateful ignorance.

For now their dreams are filled with dread

From their impertinence.

Within their dreams they’ll find a beast

So terrible to see

That they’ll fall dead while they lie in bed

Upon the astral sea.

The beast is that of their own making

And tears their will apart.

For no longer are their leaders faking

Their callous, hard, black hearts.

“They do not care for your demises,

You are just cannon fodder.

No one can now fix this bond,

Not even with a sauter.”

These rabid wolves shall lose their teeth

And be left out to die.

For since their cold, dead hearts still beat,

Their death comes by black fly.

surreal poetry

About the Creator

Arthur Armstrong

A being of duality, poetic irreverence, and maddening nonsense.

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