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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

Copyright © | Year Posted 2019




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