* note- today was a rough day, and the original post went all sour, so you get a poem. Good Luck.
The Demons are on the Hunt,
They’ve scented out their prey!
Panic smells and threat’ning sounds,
fringtened fearsome thoughts run foul;
Fleeing, running trying hard
To slip the bonds of thought.
Reason briefly tries afresh,
To stem the bursting dam.
The demons turn and point anew,
Their quarry briefly free!
His hope is tangible for now
But fleeting is the dream.
Their quarry flees yet once again,
Flitting thither and yon,
The demons note his fresh resolve,
And theirs to match his steel.
The truth is he cannot escape
These coursing hounds of hell.
They dog the victims every thought,
And taste his very soul;
These demons fair and strong of will
Are sons of man, ’tis true.
These demons hide within his thoughts,
And torture his mind, the pain!
I know this tale, ’tis true and sound.
The lies are plain to see.
For I am the man who runs and hides
And these demons, well, they are me.