By Ivanka Fear

Opened the door just a crack and it got out.
Locked up for so long, it didn't linger to say goodbye.

Padlock cut, chains loosened,
        it wriggled about a bit and shook them off.
Unleashed, it took flight immediately
        leaving the confines of its prison behind
        hoping to spread its dark wings above the earth.
I'd kept it selfishly to myself for years
        terrified it might burrow itself elsewhere,
        worried its venom would infect others,
        horrified it could sink its fangs into those I love.
Buried well below the surface it dwelt
          content to wallow in my deep pit
          feeding on leftover junk
          steadily growing into such a monstrosity
          it threatened to rip me apart.
As much as I doted on it,
          our time was coming to an end
          with the walls closing in suffocating,
          burying the two of us together.
It didn't look behind as it left
          but simply dissipated into thin air
          while the light flooded in.
Now it's gone and where it resided
          there's a hollow waiting to be filled.

Door still open just a crack, in case.
But for now, I'm home free, free at last.

About The Author

Ivanka Fear is a former teacher now pursuing her passion for writing. Her poems and short stories appear in Spadina Literary Review, Montreal Writes, Adelaide Literary, October Hill, Scarlet Leaf Review, The Sirens Call, The Literary Hatchet, Wellington Street Review, Aphelion, Muddy River Poetry Review, and elsewhere.

She has completed her fourth suspense novel and is looking for an agent. Ivanka resides in midwestern Ontario, Canada, with her family and cats. If you want to check out what else Ivanka is up to, you can go to her website, Twitter, Facebook, and Instagram.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.