These are ferocious times,
chasing,
like animals through the streets,
we find our selves,
in dark hide-aways,
from these fierce, lunging things.
They are us though,
following us through time,
and place,
monsters, but our making.
From childhood,
on through,
our little demons,
our little angels.
Protecting,
attacking,
flee, defend.
Ours.
In these times,
more so,
more at us,
every day,
more of us,
extended, every way.
Our angels and demons grown huge,
they follow us,
we don't follow them.
