He says it was a beastie Ever so big, in the woods He says the beastie came in the dark Came and went an’ came back And wanted to eat him— He was dreaming.
Beasts! Where from? What does that mean but nightmares? Fear can’t hurt you Any more than a dream. There isn’t a beast—how could there be? You’ll be talking about ghosts and such next. Be frightened because you’re like that, But there is no beast in the forest.
There is no beast in the forest, Just an ignorant, silly little boy. A blackness within, a blackness that spread. Pig’s head on a stick.
Fancy thinking the Beast Was something you could ****! Do you think you know better? Aren’t you afraid of me? This is ridiculous. You knew, didn’t you? You know perfectly well Why things are what they are. Close, close, close! I’m part of you.
to my English teacher, for assigning a style of poetry I’d never tried, and to William Golding, who wrote the words that I had the freedom to rearrange.