From pine forests and echoing hills,
they come. They come from daydreams
and black wells of fear.
They hide under beds until night falls
and slip between sheets
as darkness sprawls.
When you put on the lights,
they see. They see you from valleys
and forests quiet and scarred.
They wait in dimly lit backyards
while you droop over the table
and write to your sister
a picture postcard.
From your front garden
to the crossing by the library,
they follow you. They follow you
into the café with a hanging sign.
They pour over your thoughts like rain
and appear as words
from the nib of your pen.
But when across your stained window panes,
you don’t see them. You don’t see them
in crowded streets or quiet places
where you read alone,
they tread back into hills
with no names. They bury themselves
in soils with blue wild flowers
when the storm lashes in.
Note: This poem has been written as a metaphor to illustrate the havoc greed, insecurities, and jealousies can make on our lives.