Saw a racoon,
This morning it scared,
Me to witness it,
Very cool, though, it was,
Huge, and brown, and white,
Covered in battle scars,
To which there was no,
Avail, probably, churned up,
From the lightning storm,
Which reminded me of,
Racoon City, in, the movie,
Of attacking zombies,
Fled by the chaos of,
Rotting flesh, that was,
Found innocent in nature,
The plague of a century,
I have chased a demon,
Called big racoon,
Eyes of a champion, titanic,
A big wreckage of a beast,
Spasms of a muscle through midway explosions,
Called fireworks,
Beware the huge and rabid racoons.
About the Creator
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More stories from Tambourine Man and writers in Poets and other communities.
New Normal
There is always a moment — small, quiet, almost forgettable — when the spark stops being a warning and becomes a state. It never looks like a turning point from the outside. It’s not a dramatic shift. It’s not a cinematic beat. It’s a subtle internal click, a recalibration so slight that only someone who has lived this cycle as many times as I have would recognize it.
By Elisa Wontorcik5 days ago in Poets
Comments (3)
Fascinating.
Quite a fascinating story
Very interesting story!