October 3, 2005

chipmunks skitter on coals of hot red
screaming silence fills them with dread
ancient iguana looks on as he grins
insanity's gate, where your hell begins

'come one, come all' beckons the shrew
dark wrinkles of time, seems we once knew
the shrew as a timid, tiny, furry one
anticipating the spikes of his tail, we run

but pain crashes in as we realize that we
are running from one, to the tails of three
we cry out for a last bit of hope, but no
unspeakably large spikes continue to grow

Type: Poetry

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