Phobos

 

“Fear should be named- neither by words nor by actions… Nor should any efforts be made to tame it, for it is a specter. It rules your reason, and tames your wild.”

Had yet the eye to open full
And had yet the mind to awaken

'Till the wretched voice came sordidly by 
No words can express one's mortification then
The heart positively leaps out of one's chest.
Just, hush, dear heart. There's nothing to fear.
Is there ever?

And so the phantom made its way 
Through the saucers and pots and dishes and trays
And one hears the pan being brought out
And hears the voice soliloquize
"And put in that, that and that"
"That will suffice the present's need"
And you stay supine, move not a muscle
'Till the voice calls from its lair
And your veins but freeze...

You heed the call, and you pull your nerves together

Reach for the pitcher, you pour the water 

You place it onto a stand

And run away... You run away before you face it

You wish the phantom never gets its hands on the pitcher.

It will, though.

Something wicked this way comes.