Morning of poetry
Fear;
how it echoes in dimensional chambers.
When I was young,
I recall a dark eyed girl, clutching a strawberry doll,
Hidden behind our parents legs.
silver stillness, eyes of fierceness,
watching me like she might run in an instant,
or like a black jungle cat,
leap out instead.
Silence like ice, stilling the breath,
the air between us cold and heavy.
She was the one to tell the monster
to go away,
I was always the one to let it rest
under my bed.
Let life be,
demons and all.