The Creature

The creature stalks the

From its mission
never resting,

With its heavy tread
like stones,

Seeking marrow from
your bones.

None can meet its
fiery eyes

Or withstand its
constant cries.

The creature speaks
with grief and sorrow

Of all the shoulds of past
and morrow,

And if without a proper

(and with its sighs and moans
restricts them)

It must its own heart

And from the past, old hurts

Unloved, unwanted,
never sated,

Only with death will its hunger
be abated.


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