It creeps along,
Slinking in the shadows,
Watching, waiting,
Wanting for you to pause,
To hesitate in your movement,
Smirking to itself in a sly way,
Grinning at the goose bumps,
The chills that chase you
Chanting your name,
As it chisels its way
Into your mind,
Catching you as you stumble
On the corner of a slanting stone,
It takes hold of you as
Your wary will makes way;
Your resolve risks crumbling;
Your heart pounds,
Pounding.
Pounding at your mind,
Until you can't help
But to give in again,
Like you have so many times before.
It has you in its clutches,
Grasps so tight to its prey,
Pray for a good outcome,
Or an escape,
A reprieve,
But it has its hold,
It has your bold
Soul screaming out in fear,
You are ensnared.

Ladies and gentlemen,
    

      Boys and girls.
    

      The story I bring is one to tell,
    

      With Dragons and beast from far away lands,
    

      Witches and wombats and beast from the sands.
    

      Golums and ghost, great goblins gone gruesome!
    

      Mighty warlords that would survive if you nuked em!
    

      Werewolves so powerful that they consume the night!
    

      Don't worry, no vampires to ruin the plight!
    

      Bombardments of beast, broken skulls, bad burdens.
    

      A tantalizing tail if ever you've heard one!
    

      Zombies so evil, your skin crawls with every word.
    

      I'm not lying when I say that the fear is obsurd!
    

      But before I give you this recital,
    

      I ask and I beg, I need a **** title!!

It was a simply soothing sound.
Seemingly surreal, severing the silence
With even sin surrendering to the sublime symphony
Of sirens signifying salvation.
Leaving legs lying limp and lifeless,
Losing a life I'd have liked to live.
Leaping, laughing, or lounging lazily
I fear for my future
Forever fighting ferociously.
Because four fearsome phantoms
Brought bars, blades, and bats
To beat my bewildered brother and I blind
Before we both blacked out from blood loss.
Now there's a knife notched in the nape of his neck.
He'll never know the nuance of another night;
But now I know the necessity of the nightmarish noose

Don’t ask me to pass the assonance assessment
Or time my rhyming to make you smile.
Alliterative pieces I’m proud to produce
After pondering, my pretty person.

No I’d rather be free
When I write poetree (lol).
Must write with meaning,
So don’t be demeaning,
Even if you are screaming.

Existence, God, Love, People –
They’re what I write about.
Oft without form.
Just enjoy.

Gorgeous gold glory starts the story
That ends with a tune under the moon…

Paul Butters

© PB 20\9\2015.

"The other one, the one they call [Sophie], is the one things happen to."

Slurring steps like words, not even drunk, yet
still seeing clearly the blurred letters you sent.

I let her cry, although I never understood
how the salty spate should heal a temporary break.

Blowing up small things to make them big is, what?
we were taught, more than being warned on how they will pop.

I can clearly see through the glass bones and paper
skin, sitting and tightening her ribs, enjoying the plague.

Spilling speech, strictly to rid myself
of your poisonous finger-tipped bones.

I let the break hurt more, swinging mischievously, pulling off the band-
aid slower to compose the tones for her to express.