A World Within Our Own

whatever you called it--
hyper-sensitivity,
hyper-reality,
or even a bad drug flashback--
it had finally gotten to him.

smoke-like wisps
emanating from someone's head,
lightning-like streaks
radiating from a moving hand--
it was all a bit too much.

he shook his head slowly
as he stood in silent appreciation
of a tear sliding down the face of a crying child--
a tear drop that more resembled
a gorgeous, liquid pearl than a tear.

Perception

creeping through somber woods
along the river at dusk,
i tried to swallow my fears.

within the close confines of rotted stumps
and drooping canopy of dying pine,
she often found me increasing
the energy of my grip –
grasping the frail skin of her hand or
holding her shirt sleeve –
lest something should appear,
appetite ready to devour me.

wild beasts peered from underneath
the carpet of molding pine needles,
wide bright eyes following my movement.
ears seemed to twitch with each misstep
as if hearing and identifying my fear.
legs fluttered and wiggled,
ready to jump out at me without
even a moment to scream.

“easy, child,” she smiled and said.
“those images aren’t real.
it’s just in your imagination.”

she toted me towards the beasts,
my hand now clutching hers
to hold on for dear life.
then i saw them – as if for the first time.
old logs and stumps had imposed
upon the confines of my fertile mind,
taking the shape of beasts.
their bright eyes – simple knots,
washed white by many hard rains.
their ears – fallen leaves from the dogwood,
stuck to the logs with mildew and slime.
and those legs, those fearsome creepy legs –
broken limbs bent at odd angles to tease.

a nervous laugh escaped my lips,
and i smiled at her old wrinkled face,
ready to continue on our way.

Nightmare

awaken with a jolt as the world comes crashing down
i run from the comfort and safety of my sheltered soul
running fast… faster… faster yet…
running from the threat to my quiet complacency
the corner turns and i stop up short,
confronted face to face by my demons.

whirling, thrashing, fighting just to break free –
biting, scratching, hoping to find a soft spot –
praying, pleading, down on my knees
for the madness to fully retreat
wishing for a coherent thought that will
help me escape from this oddity.

a gentle shake, a soft caress, a feather of a whisper –
these seem out of place in this cruel house of horror;
i tremble, fearing the next touch to be pain.
yet, the next touch is soft, compassionate –
a voice pulling me from the depths –
out of the blinding nightmare that’s captured me.

The Monkey

a cold gust of wind rose,
blowing a long, low moan
through the old, rusty gutter.
he shivered and turned to go.
that’s when he saw it—
the large cartoon eyes;
the tarnished, broken symbols;
that toothy, maniacal grin.
that grin!
he had seen that grin,
once comforting and comical,
in his nightmares.
now, face to face with this childhood toy,
that grin was no longer welcoming.
it said, “Welcome home, Johnny.”
at the same time, that grin—
that innocent-looking grin—
had also said,
“prepare to die.”

A Momentary Peace

he walked--
walked for miles in
that devilish heat and humidity.
he walked until
his legs were nothing more than
rubber bands
and his heart raced as if
it would explode.

he relished these walks--
relished them mostly because
of the way his head would swim
and his ear would ring,
sometimes ringing so loudly
it drowned out the
agonizing,
tortuously slow
ticking of the
death watch.