dark nighttime
holds illusions,
all seeking
to guide you
into madness
and cringing
under too-short,
coarse covers
trust your gut,
sweet child;
only light
is inside you
the same
may not always
be said
of the others
look
before crossing
strange threshold,
take care
there’s a light
that’s inside you
that light,
true and bold
and then there’s
the everything
else
that’s out there
some lights
have gone out,
but haven’t yet
been told
devils
can appear
as angels,
so beware
they would
warm themselves
by the fires
of your favors
they return
your good deeds
with nothing
but despair
gratitude
is absent;
all the usual,
good flavors
are not nearly
so much in them,
not so much
as their needs
you’d help them
if you could
but you can’t…
nor can any
any goodness
you offer
is repaid with
foul deeds
their love was
all strangled
by weeds,
so many
caring is a
thing they’re
far too good
at feigning
but they’d not do
so much
at all…
were they able
to give you
assistance
they assist
by restraining
they’d have you
assist by
being food
on their table
in the dark place,
your kind rules
won’t replace
good sense
your eyes
fail to hear;
your sight goes
deaf and dumb
you’re a good child
and a smart one;
always keep
strong defense
against the weaving
of webs
that would have you
succumb
listen not,
to easy tales
of leisure
or love
be generous
be grateful,
but too much so,
one discovers
there’s humanity
in your heart
and it fits you,
like a glove
but the same
may not always
be said
of the others
listen closely
when light whispers
its soft,
gentle warning
go not lightly
where sternly
it would guide you
away
lean gently
upon your genteel
manners
of good morning
shield carefully,
your beacon;
shining,
that it may
ward off those
hungry things,
slinking in the
twilight
committing
many crimes
to justify their
sadness
your large heart
would feed them
but the briefest time’s
highlight
your manners
won’t give them
a single moment’s
gladness
a hunger,
baleful,
returns ever,
without pauses
more hot
and more fierce,
much stronger
than before
opening you
slowly,
hiding
true causes
growing
more bold
once you open
the door
in knowing
what nice, warm
feelings
spill out of you
on your noble,
good faith
they’ll come again,
to dine
a stitch of
incredulous
keeps away
death’s hue
after all is
said and done,
it almost always
saves nine
trim the wick
of your candle,
its bright light,
inspire
keep your powder
all dry
and your lamp tinder
lit
small steps
can lead you
into darkness,
more dire
so, be careful
and wise
and don’t fall
for it
odd misgivings
may cause you
to shirk,
with an attitude
even the
friendliest
of those come-hither
smiles
the first thing
to go,
once they’re in,
is your mood
a lengthy
and foul one
means you’re taken
by their wiles
hold your memory
on tight
and never let them
touch
trust your
way-down-deep
when the good feeling
lacks
harken
which hands
reach for you
too much
a bother
in your belly
stops you dead
in your tracks
your energy
will fail,
long before
their thirst
a visceral fear,
in your
tenderhearted,
warm guts
take the
hooked bait
and you’ll soon see
their worst
suspicious
of yourself
and feeling like
you’re nuts
when uneasy
twinges
drive you back,
second-guessing
from a seemingly
obvious
act
of benevolence
they’re there
to warn you
of something bad,
pressing
even daddy’s
good breeding
can draw to you
malevolence
some feed on daddy’s
manners,
mother’s charm school
propriety
it’s less commentary
on your love
and more on their
bleakness
in spite of all
politeness
good intentions,
sobriety
resides in
a maintenance
that guards against
your own weakness
you are glowing
with life, child;
remain balanced in
your poises
stay out of
the shadows
and out of
the foolish
they’ll drag you
into dins of
the most horrible
noises
pulling you
from the light,
down into…
the ghoulish
when your social
sensibilities
are suddenly
eviscerated
and it happens
without logical
reasons,
not one
a thing which,
on the surface,
seems
uncomplicated
do not question it,
dear child;
instead…
turn and run
when abdominal
doubt
scorns the stranger’s
handshaking
when something
inside of your
knotted-up,
deep self
signals
a threat, with
inexplicable
quaking
though they look
the good deal,
put them back
upon the shelf
never wander
too closely
to the edges
of the dark
shadows
have been known to,
on occasion,
jump through
to leap out,
swallow flickering,
pretty things
that spark
the sparkling,
pretty lights
in pretty things,
like you
keep close
to the guard dogs
who growl
behind fierce eyes
when temptation
comes close,
offering you
strange favors
don’t lean in,
too closely
or listen
to their lies
the keepers
of darkness
and light are
close neighbors
and sometimes
those shaded
boundaries
fall open
since some always
go there,
eager to
steal keys
this may shock
or confuse you;
sensibilities,
all broken
but disappearance
in the night
happens with
great ease
not all
are so nice
as you, child;
you must know
that some
are the weight
of a great,
heavy stone
not all would
have you live
or leave
or let go
but would gladly
consume all,
even marrow
of your bone
your mommy
and daddy
and friends want you
to live
but monsters are
more common
than they bothered
to explain
taking each
precious drop
of all the blood
you could give
some quietly
feed on
the wellbeing
in your brain
not keeping you in
too good
but rather too many,
different shapes
creepers,
all slithering
down low,
out of light
until you break
their spells
and your spirit
escapes
well-hidden,
under coverings,
many put up
no fight
but will linger
and drain you
until you rise up
and slay
some appear
tricky,
as a lamp
or a torch does
shielding you
from the bright,
good and sensible
day
storms,
wearing rainbows;
where color,
never was
any light that
splinters out
is artificially
made
those devils
would lay you down
on razor-sharp
pillows
dressing you
in black cloaks
of drowning
in the shade
some wicks
take light easily,
like dried-up,
old willows
candles burning
through the night,
on first strike
of one match
but some things
only look like
a flame
or spark
but their sweet,
sugar poisons,
sharp, in the throat,
catch
you’d use up
all your matches
and still be
in the dark
they will never, ever
burn,
no matter how hard
you try
for they’re just
not the good,
useful, light
type of stuff
they will always
break things
and take things
and lie
try to help them,
you’ll discover
that it’s never quite
enough
a mask-wearing
face appears
like innocence
and hope
lovely or kind
at first glance,
they may
look
but with a lot
of hard scrubbing
and a fair
amount of soap
you’ll discover
the ruse
and note all that
they took
i’m sorry to
have to say, child
not all is
as it seems
in fact, most things
are not
at the bottom
of this matter
in this world,
there are things
far worse than
bad dreams
and the daylight
does not
cause all of them
to scatter
some things
are stubborn
slow dying,
sowing trouble
and you’ll never
get back
those things
which were taken
it’s much better
when you’re older,
to pop
your own bubble
childhood
dies easier
with your confidence,
unshaken
but die
it must do,
since it’s nothing
but a blindness
the warm blanket
of sheltering,
by fathers
and mothers
the love you
possess, child
rewards kindness
with kindness
the same
may not always
be said
of the others
© 2021 Kevin Trent Boswell
From the black book of fiendishly foul, frightening things, Out On The Killing Floor
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Kevin Trent Boswell 