He’s sitting over there—
The stare—
Sitting in the corner,
In the smoky dark
Recess—
There is no progress.
The stare,
Sharply focused
Over here—
I feel the fear
Forever frozen
Like fractal fragments
Fomenting in my mind.
The stare—
From over there—
Glances my way
From his wrought iron chair—
A stare from which
There is no
Compare!
And I’ve become
Ever aware
That without any care,
While sitting over there
In the steel bone throne,
A man with wiry hair
Has locked me deep within
The clutches of
His damnable
Stare!
© 2024 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved.
-
Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Offline) - Published: September 11th, 2024 07:24
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 9
Offline)
Comments4
Yikes! Yous been taken prisoner without any grand disruption of the situation nor uproar, simply taken captive.
Excellent details with a haunting poignancy, beautifully rendered. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you for your thoughtful comment! I\'m glad the poem resonated with you. Your insights on the subtle captivity and haunting atmosphere are exactly what I hoped to convey. I appreciate you taking the time to share your reaction – it means a lot to me as a writer.
You know that guy there?! lol.
LOL! No...and I am certainly the better off for it! LOL!
Awesome
Thank you! Glad you liked it!
You're welcome
Unease isn't the half of it. If a return stare doesn't fix, then discretion would suggest a retreat to another venue. I know.........
A very real and truthful write.
Thank you so much! Indeed! Retreating to another venue might be in order! Glad the poem resonated with you!
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