Demons

“Memory isn’t as good as it used to be” Cackled Sam Browne, feeling all of his eighty years Sam drained his ale and conspiratorially whispered “Here, got tales of woes to tell you young man” “Now come on Sam” stepped up the sympathetic soul “Your drunk, I’ll see you home”, but in vain cajoled “Don’t want to abstain, I was destined for greatness” Sam was addicted to finding a solution To finally ridding himself of his demons Sam mused as they shortcut through the cemetery The night was moonless and the lamplights dimly shone On seeing the exit gate ahead the young man breathed a sigh of relief, eager to get the old man home Suddenly an icy feeling crept down his spine extended across to his arms and down his legs Frightened he looked at Sam who was standing apart whispering “Free, no longer a slain warrior” The young man collapsed, appalled “Woe is me” he gasped Totally now in the grip of outside forces manipulating all his thoughts, feelings and flesh 8/10/19 Eight Word Challenge Poetry Contest Emile Pinet 8/10/19