Innocent childhood it was.
Fear was under the bed,
lurking behind the curtain,
hidden in shadowy alleys,
hanging on branches of sallies.
Fear spoke; I heard in
growls of the hollow floorboards,
shrieks from terrified old doors,footsteps of dead leaves on porch,
cackles from flickering of torch,
babbles of bubbling black broth.
Fear was out roaming in the wild,
animated inbetween the tales of my dad at night.It rests now deep in cicatrix of my wounded sou