Demons and Doors

The door has been locked since you were a child.
Heavy and foreboding.
The creatures behind it made sounds in the night,
strange scratches and cries that echoed
You could never be sure if they were vicious
or fearful, so better the door stay locked.
Safer.

Or so you thought.

That is the problem with imagination.
It won’t leave you alone and it is like the town madman,
unpredictable, too loud to ignore,
leaving you to wonder which of you was victim,
you
or the creature behind the door,
and unable to put the voices in your head at bay any longer,

you release the latch.

About this poem

I put a demon to bed this week. He turned out to be a teddy bear.

Tom