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Selene Ashewood Poem
Spikes on her wrists, bats in her hair,
You are intrigued . . . yet dazed by her menacing glare.
You walk towards her; it seems to be a trap,
As wind, lightening, and thunder sound their ominous clap.
Yes, it is true . . . this raging storm would appear.
Who or what is controlling you now? It is not quite clear.
Forced by your mind—with her, you join hands.
Fighting to save your mortal soul, you cannot undo her commands.
Copyright © Selene Ashewood | Year Posted 2015
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