Menacing hands and eyes outline, my nightmare box

Pointing accusing fingers, closed palms.

Eyes burn and scorch my soul;

Pry down deep into my mind’s corners,

Tie down my heart and tax my secrets.

Pandora scripts a long- shadowed tale,

Demons waltz; roll through the dark.

Blood- shoot eyes chill the spine...

But these demons shine like diamonds:

Elegant jewels of beauty and love,

A wolf in sheep’s clothes and skin.

These boxes align the shelves of running corridors.

Nightmare boxes, edge to edge, packed together

Breath suffocated.

But, these nightmare boxes begin to look upon each other,

Upon each other with gnawing teeth through foaming jaws.

Beneath the towering shelves lies a lake of crushed dreams,

Imagination drowned in tears.

Pandora’s script trudges on past societies confines;

The shelves bulge and breath has long waved the white flag.

The boxes begin to fall and fall, like cascading boulders;

The nightmare boxes drown in a lake of broken dreams, fallen tears.

Souls fear what they see and what they hear,

Beyond their nightmare box.

Light breaking through the mist, whispers of the night;

The stench of pulsing factories.

Yet the beacon of reality is a short torch,

Sight looks beyond the simple boundaries.

Yet fear is not waiting in the shadows to be found,

To break into the nightmare,

Fear lies within, waiting to break from the light...

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