Creatures of the Mind

                Phantom

A writer fights a deadly foe
That battles in his brilliant mind.
It routs his stories on the field
And leaves them dead, unread behind.

These helpless works left in its wake
It makes seem old and out of date.
New stories fill the writer’s head,
But soon they meet their elder’s fate.

This foe, this brutal enemy,
This phantom of unfinished works
It haunts me to this very day
And in my mind it always lurks.



                The Monster

There lurks inside each person’s mind,
A monster, large and great;
One none can tame—and always there—
Its name to us is Hate.

It feeds on strife and small disputes
And plays inside our heads;
It twist our words to conflict make,
Confuses what is said.

Employing all the tongue’s cruel power,
Hate spits out hurtful words—
Even when what’s said is meant with good,
Hate changes tone that’s heard.

The purpose of this poem’s not
To shift the blame from us.
But to expose our own sad state—
This beast is part of us.

But Hate, like darkness, cannot last
When Love’s true light is shone.
Like Tolkien’s trolls, our Hate shall be
Confined as if in stone.

If God’s true love, so clearly shown,
Is ‘loud to fully dwell
Inside our hearts and in our minds,
It there makes all things well.