|Not sure i like this one.
Normally send these sorts of poems back to the incinerator room in my head, but thought I would give it a shot and see what I could make of it.
I'll apologise in advance to those who save cats as "nice" metaphors. I've never been a cat person I guess :P
Cat in a box
It scrapes and bumps through my hall in the night,
clawing the walls and mewling like an unfed child,
Till it is scalded by the lazy sun,
And it hides in the cupboards and dark places
It hisses and whines to be fed, always hungry
Watching me from the dark places,
And I laugh till the walls break and the light gets in
and I run from my house and fill the world with friends and wine
And he waits for me in the dark places,
When the sun is broken and the night time comes
He scratches at my door and flaunts his mangy contempt
In the silent times he comes back to get me.
Again and again and again. Always waiting in the dark places, always patient, always hungry. Always.
It'll bury its claws into my lungs, and mock my weakling stands and fairy-tale battles,
Till a fleeting dawn grants me temporary respite.
From that thing that waits.