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Poetry Pleases: Nightmare Ashburnham

Caroline Glyn's poem captures the essence of irrational fear.

Grey, grim, menacing, the factory walls rose high,
Scowling over the slimy, grimy street;
Grey walls, grey cheerless slums, grey sky,
An oppressing, unceasing nightmare.

So often in my dreams I have been chased
Through pitch-black streets, by some disguised
Monster, as mad donkey, man or ghost,
Unknown fear weighing on my shoulders.

This haunted world in Ashburnham I have found,
Where nothing happens, nothing changes; it is all the same.
Where Something clutches me, drags me, bound,
Back to never-ceasing fear.

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