The Goblin

The face in the 
mirror,
Is it yours alone?
Can you find yourself, 
In the fog?
Or is he just out of sight, 
Only to appear,
when you slowly 
Turn your eyes 
to see of he is near?

Is it possible to feel shadows? 
The ones that,
Creep across the walls
And slide their long cold fingers  
Down the back of our necks,
Making the finest hairs stand on end?

The unintelligible whispers that crawl 
Into your ear traveling down to the 
Pit of your stomach, 
Forcing you to awaken in a cold sweat.
Who or what is there and what do they
Want?

The childhood goblin that slept in your closet,
Slid and hid beneath your bed
Just to rise at your feet,
And tickle your toes.
Has he grown with you?
Steering you steps and 
Guiding Your hands through fear.
Do you hear him?
Do you listen?
Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

Poem

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October 20, 2016 at 4:06 AM
That actually gave me chills, to be able to feel some of what a writer writes is fantastic, great job Charles Pullin.
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