The view murky and unclear
darkness is near, nothing but shapes
in the midst of fear.
In the misty air, nothing is clear
but the crack of broken branches
from footsteps I hear.
Noise and sounds,
close to me, closing in.
The smell of woodland ground.
The touch of cool air, on skin.
I'm free, but sinking,
mind is overthinking.
Can taste electricity in the air,
tastes like anger and pain.
A storm is brewing.
Can smell the rain.
Can feel the humidity,
wet and clinging,
like cellophane dampening my brain.
The footsteps get closer.
The snapping sounds
like it's right behind.
If I turn, will I see a shroud?
A figure looming through my clouded vision.
Will I scream aloud?
I feel a hand on mine.
Calming, peaceful and kind.
Through the darkness into which I'm thrown,
a voice,
with a helpful tone.
With a light shining
a beacon home.
Thanks for reading.
Trisha McCourt,
one of the poets on a Facebook group that I frequent
is going blind unless she can get extensive cateract surgery,
she needs help to cover the costs, medical and aftercare.
This is a terrible thing for anybody to go through.
If anyone can help then please donate here,
even if it is just a few pounds/dollars.
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