There Are No Monsters Here
“He has no eyes, they say!” he said. “And two great, hulking arms!
He has six horns that crown his head and fourteen clawing hands!”
“Rubbish!” cried an older man, casting a glower and glare.
“I’ve lived in these mountains all my life, and there are no monsters
here.”
“But I saw him through the trees of glass!” the drunkard cried in turn.
“The beastie had black fur like night, and scaled skin like a wyrm!”
“Preposterous!” the old man croaked. “Your eyes deceive your sense.
Such visions are deceiving dreams, from bottles conjured hence!
Besides,” the ancient carried on, “if there were such a thing,
we’d all be dead – as said is said – and my heart is still beating.”
At this the drunkard raised his head and leased a terrible roar,
then monstrously – to disbelief – poured the old man in his maw.
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