veneer and far

a manager on late shift goes
into a darkened room at night,
the lights come on, and silently
he mumbles thanks to what is right

for there not being monsters there,
of human or non-human type:
he thinks the latter are not real
but even without press, or hype,

these things that don’t exist get play:
because there’s naught more tangible
than fear within whatever dark
pretending its all

manageable

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

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