What Happened To Those Darlings?

By Ashleigh Hatter


What happened to the monsters of olde,
the ones that frightened and caused us to hide
the ones that contested our claims of "I'm bold."
the ones that cornered us all the Night? 

What happened to those darlings?

To the witches,
  with long splintered fingernails
  and mangy cats with broken tails
  who looked at children and wanted to eat
  and spoke with the Devils for powers to keep
  and waited to lure trusting young ones away
  to torture and kill, while the wise children prayed
Prayed!
  for an angel to guard them and cast the Witch out.
Where now does she hide?
Will she ever come out?

What happened to the monsters of olde,
the ones that frightened and caused us to hide
the ones that contested our claims of "I'm bold."
the ones that cornered us all the Night?

What happened to those darlings?

To the ghosts,
  with stretched mouths that dragged on the ground
  with see through bodies that hovered around
  who inhabited houses and graveyards at night
  and screamed and flickered in hellish grey light
  and chased and possessed all of those who came near
  whose very proximity froze the living in fear
Fear!
  of all darkness and the desire to run.
Where now are they kept?
Their appearance we shun.

What happened to the monsters of olde,
the ones that frightened and caused us to hide
the ones that contested our claims of "I'm bold."
the ones that cornered us all the Night?

What happened to those darlings?

To the beasts,
  with fangs and fur and wings all about
  with claws that rended the very ground
  who lived in the forests and hunted at night
  for lonely wanderers too foolish to hide
  who languished in misery and guzzled down gore
  and with a great howl would go hunt for more
More!
  because the beast loved to kill.
But where is it now?
Has its heart fallen still?

What happened to the monsters of olde,
the ones that frightened and caused us to hide
the ones that contested our claims of "I'm bold."
the ones that cornered us all the Night?

It could be they're there, waiting to rise,
waiting for people to lose faith in their eyes,
waiting for people to believe once again
and for authors to stop putting erotic spins
on all of their being, all of their tales.
They're waiting to rise and bring back their Hells. 

But until then, 
until it's time
we'll just have to wonder on that tiny thing:
What happened to those darlings?

If you liked this, give some of these other great poems a read.

Storms And Me

Some storms rage out of control and sometimes we just have to accept it and move on the best we can.

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