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Rated: E · Poetry · Other · #1608040
What is it in yourself that you are afraid to face?
I'm walking through the trees of an old wood.
A stick snaps behind me and I freeze.
Slowly I turn to see what is there.
Standing tall and proud is a great stag.
The stag runs at me and so I run myself.
I trip on a branch and fall.
As I turn to face the stag, it runs at me.
It runs into me, in me, to disappear into my body.
I realize then that I wasn't running from the stag.
I was running from myself.
But no more will I run.
I'm ready to face my demons.
I'm ready to face myself.
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Printed from https://writing.com/main/view_item/item_id/1608040-Demons