My Haunt Poem by Peter Black

Lay me, my head down soft to pray,
Saved by Gods or any high whim and hand
But once my eyes close, a fire sparks
Flashes green and white in the dark
Dirty openings in my head and gut-
Blessed not by grace or love
Feeling lost and left to my own thoughts
A monster comes to me and he is made
Of the figments of mankind
Walks low and speaks in clever rhymes.
He is scaled and thorny—The itch
He picks at my scabs and scars and licks
Whispers of the danger and the harm
In the world's locked in other haunts.
He burns my skin and tells me to walk.
So late in the night, I do awake,
Violent, seeing unreal signs and shapes;
The monster leads me places never thought
By me, could be envisioned or conceived.
Though my loves have gone
I have a good companion in my haunt.