Friday, March 24, 2017


Gray mist on the ground.
Willows weeping by the pond.
Something wicked comes.

Gray clouds gather now,
greasy raindrops fall to earth,
poisoning the land.

Can you hear that sound?
Heavy footfalls on wood steps.
The world holds its breath.

A knock on the door.
Sharp. Loud. Forceful. The frame shakes.
Something wicked waits.

Your heart skips a beat.
Your breath catches in your throat.
The knock comes again.

You approach the door.
Your skin feels hot and too tight.
Your hand grasps the handle.

You open the door,
onto black night and cold rain.
Death looks back at you.

Gray mist on the ground.
Something wicked leaves with you,
and the willows weep.

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