The crooked lady leers
from the dark end of the street.
Dressed
head to stumbling feet
in black.
A shadow cast
against a sky so dark.
Mumbles under breath.
Is it a threat, a bark
bringing forth death?
I stand so near,
another step
and the world
could end, I fear.
The lady nears,
her mumbled words
whispered.
Cursed.
Under the moonlight,
Is she the vision
that visits
my bad dreams
at night?
Is she the scream
caught tight
in my throat?
When the duvet
is my only respite.
I want to run in fright.
I want to hide from sight,
but to turn and flee
would be turning my back,
meaning I can't see
the fate awaiting me.
Stalking me, hunting me.
The lady I fear, closes the gaps
in momentary skips, like a rabbit
from the traps. A hare letting rip.
As the hounds bay for blood,
I don't feel too good.
I'm woozy, fear making me feint.
I swoop, like a brick, not very subtly,
a crumpled mess reacquainting
myself with the floor.
A foot stands in front.
I close my eyes knowing
that this is the end for sure.
The lady in black,
holds out her delicate
ink stained hand,
to grasp, to guide.
She speaks softly, kindly.
Her words airy poetry,
they flow far and wide.
She whispers
sweetly to the air,
a dancing refrain, to ease my pain.
Then I realise, we are not so different.
Not quite the same, but she is just
taking in the night, basking
in the light of the moon,
letting words flow through
to place them tight
in her notepad to bring back to life,
when the sun reawakens and day arrives.
Thanks for reading
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