The terror is made from-
The executioner’s gaunt smile
The drips that aren’t the pipes
Fields that have no exit
The last dark room that you’ll ever enter
And that shadowy corner where the dark figure of fear stands just waiting to make you cry.
I found the terror-
In the eye of a rusty old scarecrow where the ravens linger
Down in the depths of the ocean where no one has laid a finger
Caged in the fury of a raging bear
Ravaged on the pavement where life is rare.
This terror can-
Pierce the strongest of minds and rip them into shards
It can devour even the bravest of men and chew them up
It can crush Mt Everest until it is but a sea of gravel
It can rip the tower of Pisa off it’s foundation and brandish it as a weapon.
But if the terror was ever set free the world would be crippled and crumple like paper as ripple of fear consumed us all.