The Thing


No shape or form

Has the monster under the bed,

Both light and shadow it has shed;

Never quite here, never quite there,

Never quite seen, as thin as air,

Yet there is something in the dark,

There must be, there has to;

A haunting ghost or a clown-shark

Watching me – it is true,

Waiting and biding time, soundlessly.

Because if it is not, if it is a lie,

If it is not there or if it has gone,

If it has never been, essentially, sly,

Then I am mad or a fool, boundlessly…

And strangely I would rather believe

This odd, scary story that I weave

Rather than there be none

To keep me warm.


When there’s something strange

In the neighbourhood…


2 thoughts on “The Thing

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