Demon Prowler

It stalks – colourless,
soulless, skin of leather,
ears tufted – a demon
predator crouching
in the private places
awaiting bloody attack

A wife reigns in instinct
ignores niggling senses
guards her loyalty –
vaguely speaks to spouse
of fears, accepts a shrug
as compliance, relaxes

Routine a barrier to what
lies within, darkness waiting,
watching – convinces herself
serenity is a state of mind,
while her husband seeks
a more youthful companion

Has plotted his escape –
accomplices secured –
intends to bulldoze
the marriage – feeds
the beast with covert
manipulations, lies

Inexperience lures the
maiden, sandwiched
between his lust and
her hope, willing to risk
precariousness, encroach
on marital privacy, bait

for what lurks there,
impatient for the kill;
but who will fall victim,
whose heart be torn
in irreconcilable pieces
when betrayal strikes.

(Image: mixtapetherapy.wordpress.com)

 

 

 

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VJ

Permission to write, paint, and imagine are the gifts I gave myself when chronic illness hit - a fair exchange: being for doing. Relevance is an attitude. Humour essential.

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