I have often wondered, Just what is hell? My darkest dreams satisfy the question. I dream of woods not leafy and bright, Not full of life, But brown, and dark . . . and dead. I dream too of a metal cell, A cylinder home that is my own, Small and cold, and in those woods. I dream I awake and leave my metal bed. But I have no freedom to go where I choose. My feet are bound. My shoes must go one way. That is all. I dream I trek. I venture bravely on toward a table and . . . What is that? I dream the table is right in front. There is no escape, but escape I try. The table starting now, a blade spinning 'round. A metal man, Some heartless demon turns the blade till It twists, and grinds, and oh . . . I'm dead!
-Niles Haich My poem "Dreadful Fantasies" from 2002 Creative Writing at Dickinson State University
