The Devil's Junk Yard

by Allen O. Webb

These walls won’t fall, this place
I hate being in; it’s been called gladiator
School and reeks of the devil’s waste.
Masculinity and insanity form the generator,
In a world crowded and murky. Drowning in
A deep dark hole, where lives are lost,
And sprits are stolen,
I fight the gated beast at all cost.
I fly into the tender night I share
With my children, the night a cracked mirror
Of the day I walk. They call on me as their
Winged avenger, but they wipe away my fear,
And fracture these walls with their minds.
Truth is they’re mine.