06/14/2026
The Evil Under a Tent
Beneath the canvas, bowed and thin,
Excitement of the races as the runners run in
A hushed spirit unbeknown crawls in on folded air,
And something waits beneath a bleacher chair.
The ropes pull tight, the shadows bend,
Although it’s day like night, it leans close, like a listening friend;
No claw, no cry, no sudden flame—
Just cold that answers to no name.
It lives in each and every heart, that twisted temptation, there from the start.
Where no laughter leaves a seam,
Where dust disturbs the edges of dreams;
Under the tent, where brave hearts part,
The evil whispers: “to their hearts.”
Don’t let him sit there, He can’t tell me to move
The evil sees an in, I have them now, it’s about to begin.
Words spoken over a space, as big as the world is, this space
Becomes bigger than any race.
I shall not be moved, yes! you will, and then sin causes life to be killed.
Now mothers cry, fathers ask why, and the whole world sees evil content with the outcome under a tent.
Altha Fugett
