They

The terrible people.

Terrified, the terror.

Terror, at black, falls.

Terror in the city.

Terror in the crypt.

Terror in the haunted house.

Terror is a man.

Terror, on a train.

Terror on the fortieth floor.

There's always a price tag.

There's always a woman.

There's always a Thursday.

These are the damned.

These thousand hills.

These glamour girls.

These three.

These wilder years.

They all kissed the bride.

These three.

They made me a criminal.

They knew what they wanted.

They ran for their lives.

They were expendable.

They rode west.

They met in Bombay.

They got me covered.

They made me a killer.

They knew what they wanted.

They were sisters.

They were so young.

They who dare.

They won't believe me.

They won't forget.

Reviews

[alanwgraham]

Its great to see something different! I like to experiment myself! The whole thing is quite enigmatic and full of questions!
Well done.
Would you like to read my poem 'Henry moore -shapeshifter' Not everyone gets it!
Thanks, Alan

[Brett Hernan]

Hi alanwgraham! Thanks very much your positive review. I appreciate it (despite the immense lateness of my reply!) 4 months ago I did immediately go and read your poem, which really does skirt round the edges of what is perceptively realised. I suppose with Henry Moore as a subject that's to be expected, so you did an interesting job of summing up your inspiration by him. I can understand why not many people would get it, but that's perfectly fine. I doubt many people 'got' William Blake either! It's impossible to be satisfied creating anything that's not somewhat experimental once you've attained the understanding that it's redundant to either attempt to try and be, or to even to try to define, what is considered 'normal'.