The Boggart

Crumbling like leaves in gutters my shrinking stomach grumbles
Mumbling while I putter, from the bed, to floor, darkness stumbles
My thoughts are grape jelly congealing to rubbery elasticity
I light my ear like a candle and sail through the opacity
The walking night, right next to me, hiding behind my head
Lurking around every corner and snoozing under the bed.

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” The boggart moaned in an oily scolding tone
The air was moist like moldy bread, and out of shadows like a phone
He spilt like ink into a glass, into a world that wouldn’t last
Every moment more purple, a visible gas, his presence reeked like ass.
“Why so malicious? Your stench is vicious and sharp like broken dishes.”
“I am what I am, I am by no means a man. Do you mean to be so pernicious?”
“I tend to be rude when lying to night is what I’ve been accused.”

Acting offended in a move so swift and splendid he told me I had to choose
“This world has nothing in it like what I hold in my right hand
Pick it up and grip it tight and it will crumble into sand.
The other thing can’t be smelled or touched, held or seen at all
It mostly functions like a crutch, but can’t even catch you when you fall.”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!” To the boggart I yelled. “I am under my own spell
Keep your treasure in your hand and mind, because I know your tricks too well.
Hold it tight and pass it off as pain or pleasure, constant toil or eternal leisure
As small as sand or as large as oceans, I am no slave to your ignorant notions:
That night is dark therefore not like a feather, or rain is wet so tis unpleasant weather.
I see right through your rues like glass, because what I see is not of the future or past.”