It Feasts On Fear II
by Michael Doyle

II.

From beyond the grave, Matty spoke
About pickle jars and things that broke.
It certainly sounded as if impossible,
But maybe it was just improbable.

It's hard to believe that some things are true,
But we're bound to believe, so we always try to.
Unfinished business can chain us down
Until what we have to do brings victory's crown.

There's nothing wrong that cannot be made right
By the words of hope we pray into the dark night.
The real horrors of this world wear the skin of humanity
With a knife in the back of doubtful sanity. 

If you stare long enough into the feel of reality,
You find scarier things than pass for sheer fantasy.
The things of fear are the things so rarefying
As to come out of the shadows fully terrifying.

Comic books spill over in their spandex story.
Real death most often comes without much glory.
There in the shadows of the darkened night,
Come the teardrops hiding from the day's light.

III.

Life's bucket full of splendid nothings,
We find that those who know the most are often bluffing.
Searching for truths that will never be found,
The truth of this small town isn't six feet underground.

Skimming for truth in a sewer's song, 
It was the words or the melody that didn't quite belong.
Twisted and twisting in the bathtub drain,
Sometimes it feels that the world is insane.

In the storm, we hear the winds call,
While into the night's slumber, we crawl
Only to wake to fight our living nightmares.
Life is full of troubles and catching snares.

A music man's troubles fill in the blues,
When life comes at us in all its multiple hues.
Ragtime is the ideology of the Devil's playground.
There is little morality in its syncopated sound.

From the screen, an evil monkey grins
As he looks up, all the mayhem surges to begin.
Drunken stumbles are released into the theater of the absurd,
And what is seen cannot be captured within a sum of words.

Dragged from innocence, one by one,
Until on All Hallows' Eve, the children are done.
Run, run away into the depths of total fear
All hail for It is drawing ever near.

(c) October 31, 2025   Michael Doyle
All Rights Reserved