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.