The Closet Monster

In my closet lives a monster whose
Nape, in the reign of Sol be tied;
Cached among robes of rainbow hues,
He found these shades a gracious hide.

At evenfall, out of the refuge he crawls
To walk in the shadows of callous herds,
Tiptoeing through goads and brawls,
Numb, undeterred, to lips that slurred.

He wades through the smarting Frost
To a road but forked in more than two.
In feeble shudders, he stirs there, lost,
Musing if only his lens were askew.

With stalled words he asks the dunce
To steer him clear of the illude, but he
Returned in the tongue of knots and ones;
His sight had not more than two to see.

As Sol's chariot across the horizon calls,
He drops dead and sprints past the gloam,
And into the closet again he crawls,
Resting with the hues, he so called home.

In my closet lives a monster who
Could not but tell you from you.