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A storm is brewing in my head
It is filled with fear and dread
Not knowing if I am alive or dead
I just hide covered in my bed

Only thoughts of escape repeat echoes
Like chimney smoke that bellows
With ghosts who are unfriendly fellows
The minds screen filled with death’s gallows

Body kicking, body twitching, last rights
No thought of fantasies flights
The rewinding of life, like lost kites
Eyes searching for the sparks of lights

A knocking at my bedroom door
Screaming rolling to the floor
Frightened down to my very core
Niagara Falls release, eyes begin to pour

Mother says, just a dream my sweet dear
Childhood tears, carried on to adult fear
Strange sounds, what is that I hear
Something that whispers, sounding weird

Sunlight seeps in through my blind
Announcing the end of a nursery rhyme
The morning light stops my nightly whine
Darkness retreats like scary slime

Style / type: 
Structured: Western
Review Request (Intensity): 
I want the raw truth, feel free to knock me on my back
Editing stage: 


I should start by saying I really enjoyed this poem but here are just a few points where I though the reading might be clearer if the words were changed in singular/plural 1) ghosts 2) mind’s 3) fantasy’s or fantasies’ 4) not wrong as it is but maybe spark of lights, (unless you are thinking of the stars). Also, towards the end you might consider the nursery rhyme to be more specific. Anyway, as I said, just a few thoughts to play with or leave as you prefer.

Keith Logan
the happy chappy

Just need to change one Ghost>ghosts,
I believe that the rest is fine.
As far as the nursery rhyme is concern, I was eluding to the Grim fairy tales that were very dark in content and would scare me as a child, thinking of witches, ghosts, and things that go bump in the night. In most of my poetry I elude to old writes as a guide to the reader for direction of the poem.
I was trying to say how psychologically childhood thoughts affect us in our daily adult life. especially in the quiet of night. where the childhood fear seem to be rooted.
By the way no stars, I am a Taoist and the lights are bits of energy that escape the body at death and return to the fabric of the energy that is the universe

I am happy you enjoyed it, I am glad to clear some of your questions up.
I myself read someone's poem and try to understand what they were thinking when they wrote the poem. Sometimes I read more of their work to understand them as writers. Every writer has his or hers own unique form that comes from how the world around them has affected them. Like Emily Dickenson was dark, because all the lost she felt through her life. She is my favorite writer,
Thank you for the visit!

Eddie C.


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