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The Art of Poetry.
Evil Child
© April 1, 1985 by Paul M. Combs, Jr. All Rights Reserved

The sky is darkened by clouds of doom -
Trembling in your forsaken room -
There’s nowhere to run, nowhere to hide
From the creature within your inside

The winds are howling every by the minute -
Time grows slower by the nearest minute -
Evil escapes into the room around -
You’re hoping that you’ll not be found.

Threatening tin the womb to escape
Pain trembles your body like a quake -
Now you see your life before your eyes
There’s nothing to do but reprisal.

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