Memories

A room of infant memories
too tired to sleep, the stairs
too steep. Images that rear
and spar with lashing feet –

Echoes of the angry shriek
surmised in wide and ugly
eyes, the savage teeth; a
breath of foully putrid air.

A spectre leers, no longer
takes a pride of place – fear
that rode this savage beast
is friendly faced these days.

There, beyond the walls which
curdle dreams a quiet awakes;
but nothing comes to break
the spell, free a tethered man.
© 18 February 2008, I. D. Carswell