deepundergroundpoetry.com
(Ghost) Stories
They say there’s a monster in these woods,
They say it looks through windows and leaves footprints on porch steps.
They say it was once a man who went into the woods searching for his wife.
They say it was once a woman who died in the streets with red on her breast and her lips.
It was once
A king,
An athlete,
A poet,
A teacher,
A mother,
A father,
A peasant,
A slave,
A man,
A woman.
It was a child in its mothers arms,
It was the mother looking down at her child.
It was bleeding,
It left them bloodied.
They say there is a monster in these hills,
They say it snatches little girls and leaves behind a stench like rotten meat dipped in honey.
They say it was once a common farmer who tamed the earth with his hands,
They say it was once a girl playing with the teddy bears left on her grave.
It was once
A student,
A philosopher,
A mathematician,
An explorer,
A wife,
A husband,
A killer,
A victim.
It was both the deer in the headlights and the driver,
The lion and the gazelle,
The fly and the spider,
The person and the people.
It’s on both ends of a gun,
Staring into the barrel and its own eyes.
It’s killing itself,
And it’s immortal.
They say there’s a monster in these waters,
They say it watches from afar and its voice sounds like a yowling cat.
They say it was once a captain who died with his ship,
They say it was once a boy who liked to kill stray cats and dogs.
It was once
A sailor,
An astronaut,
A policeman,
A sculptor,
A priest,
A mortician,
A body,
A conductor,
A musician,
A dancer,
A whore,
Alive.
They say there’s a monster inside them,
They say it begs to die and it struggles to breathe.
They say it was once me,
They say it was once you.
It was once
What is.
All that it can be and yet isn’t.
The unifying quality under the name homo sapien,
Beyond bone and blood.
It’s stalking us and running away,
Chasing itself deeper into the woods.
Monsters,
By any other name would still stink of rotting morals and the dollar bills shoved into bullet holes.
They say without words,
There’s a monster in these woods.
There’s a monster in front of me,
Inside of me.
It was once
A man,
A woman,
A child,
An elder,
A speaker,
A listener,
A person,
An idea.
Me.
Until you.
And then another,
Right after the other.
A monster of unimaginable terror,
A story to be told.
They say it looks through windows and leaves footprints on porch steps.
They say it was once a man who went into the woods searching for his wife.
They say it was once a woman who died in the streets with red on her breast and her lips.
It was once
A king,
An athlete,
A poet,
A teacher,
A mother,
A father,
A peasant,
A slave,
A man,
A woman.
It was a child in its mothers arms,
It was the mother looking down at her child.
It was bleeding,
It left them bloodied.
They say there is a monster in these hills,
They say it snatches little girls and leaves behind a stench like rotten meat dipped in honey.
They say it was once a common farmer who tamed the earth with his hands,
They say it was once a girl playing with the teddy bears left on her grave.
It was once
A student,
A philosopher,
A mathematician,
An explorer,
A wife,
A husband,
A killer,
A victim.
It was both the deer in the headlights and the driver,
The lion and the gazelle,
The fly and the spider,
The person and the people.
It’s on both ends of a gun,
Staring into the barrel and its own eyes.
It’s killing itself,
And it’s immortal.
They say there’s a monster in these waters,
They say it watches from afar and its voice sounds like a yowling cat.
They say it was once a captain who died with his ship,
They say it was once a boy who liked to kill stray cats and dogs.
It was once
A sailor,
An astronaut,
A policeman,
A sculptor,
A priest,
A mortician,
A body,
A conductor,
A musician,
A dancer,
A whore,
Alive.
They say there’s a monster inside them,
They say it begs to die and it struggles to breathe.
They say it was once me,
They say it was once you.
It was once
What is.
All that it can be and yet isn’t.
The unifying quality under the name homo sapien,
Beyond bone and blood.
It’s stalking us and running away,
Chasing itself deeper into the woods.
Monsters,
By any other name would still stink of rotting morals and the dollar bills shoved into bullet holes.
They say without words,
There’s a monster in these woods.
There’s a monster in front of me,
Inside of me.
It was once
A man,
A woman,
A child,
An elder,
A speaker,
A listener,
A person,
An idea.
Me.
Until you.
And then another,
Right after the other.
A monster of unimaginable terror,
A story to be told.
Published 18th Jul 2024
Author's Note
Would it be repetitive to lament the flawed nature of humanity, or cliche to invent these ‘monsters’ who were born long before myself? I suppose it is in our nature, watching the same sunset and still admiring the beauty of it. History will always repeat itself, to remember it makes it a warning, to forget it makes it a prequel. A person vs the people, screaming at its own echo. Isn’t it bizarre, how storytelling has existed long before word? How the stories always end the same, with a punctuation mark.
(Fun fact, criminal investigators have said that decomposing human flesh is actually a bit sweet, like ‘rotting meat dipped in honey.’)
(Fun fact, criminal investigators have said that decomposing human flesh is actually a bit sweet, like ‘rotting meat dipped in honey.’)
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18th Jul 2024 1:04pm
Intriguing write, friend. And your author’s note lingers.
Well done (and I mean it).
Well done (and I mean it).
18th Jul 2024 1:45pm
18th Jul 2024 8:03pm
