On the neither world highway, to no
Where land, on a venues side passage,
A lone hitchhiker, walks destination’s
Road, to the unknown.
Beyond the unmarked grave's sanctuary,
A spirit seeks one last dance, at the
Willow brook ballroom.
An icy maiden, of fair pale skin, blue
Eyes devoid of life, with hair the
Color of the last rays of the morning
A thin shawl, her only protection,
Against the night's chilling air.
This phantom stalks the lost roads
By ways, known as Archer Avenue,
Seeking a ride home, to resurrection
Rod Iron gates, bar the living entry,
Here only the thin blooded retain,
A guaranteed vacancy's asylum.
Why does beauty prowl the dark,
After hours light has faded away,
She speaks not, just pointing
The way home, than simply melts
Away, as if nothing, but a
Vapors mist, left unsettled,
A haunting ghostly image,
Is she, whom never can rest
Or remain at peace.
Dressed for the dance of life,
And eager to taste youthful
Experience, purest essences.
But trapped within death's prison,
The melody's harmony play on.
Yet she, resurrection Mary,
Can not end this,
The dead man’s waltz.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN