Poem Eleven-Point-One

The voices call to those who are so small--
Blinking;
Clawing;
Breaking;
They hide just around the dark corner,
From every street performer;

Walking through the streets, will come close to defeat--
Stepping;
Tripping;
Sprinting;
Alleyways hide the true forms,
Of those monsters in dorms;

But what about those who crawl around to slice up toes?
Hunting;
Inquiring;
Hearing;
Can one truly be alone in the night,
When everywhere one looks, the darkness moves to bite?

From streets to driveways and scaling the home sideways--
Gnawing;
Opening;
Knocking;
What's to be done when the monsters climb through the window,
Instead of being found under the bed or in one's pillow?

With claws and grins that prod like pins--
Cutting;
Dissecting;
Coloring;
When everything's done,
There's no where left to run;

That raging core inside that dark source--
Guiding;
Hounding;
Gutting;
Nature and nurture will each play a role,
In how the child will turn into ash or snow;

The monsters, oh how they run through the fun--
Laughing;
Maiming;
Looting;
Those in the wide suits and shiny ties,
Are there to make sure there are no goodbyes;

Forever the cat has roamed through the flat--
Scratching;
Tripping;
Soothing;
The sound of the cat is dismissed,
A window of opportunity for a monster who persists.