Phantasmic Heat
Some handcuffed bed-head youth running
Being chased into an alley by
The press
A cop ready to stun him.
A gasp of bewilderment
Spewed toward the windowsill
Dragging you from the bed shaking
Drenched in sweat
Now fully awake at the window
Peering down into
The alley’s fissure of bubbling combustion
Chimeric shadows rise from the flames
the alley walls shudder with their presence
as the orange and red reach higher and invade the shadows
sending them skyward over the fire encased building
leaving behind the odor of
smoldering coals
and grilled flesh
of those left to fall
into the pit
of phantasmic heat
You shudder
Stagger back to bed
Continue to sweat
Continue to hear
“By the pricking of my thumbs
Something wicked this way comes.”
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For those that have phantasmic heat, like Stephen King, creating horror stories is their genre. I'm glad I don't feel that kind of horrid stench of burning flesh.
Ron
Love ya!
Jane