Down There

By
Christopher J. Thomasson

Two brothers, we were.
Afraid at what lay there,
Down those reaching stairs,
Down there.
Young we were
And hand in hand,
We faced our fears together
At the top of the cellar stairs.
Eddies of stale wind,
Waif up from the blackness below,
As we know that wind also holds,
The wondering spirits of old.
How our minds,
At that tender age,
Race like the deer of the forest,
Every shadows a ghost,
And every noise a bogeyman.
Hand in hand we descend,
And face our fears together,
As individuals, brothers, and friends.

The End

Copyright 2001 by Christopher J. Thomasson

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