Get a Grip
(For JHL's 'Hauntings')
I tempt my fate with tree branches. Each and every night
I walk home from my bus stop as darkness drains the light.
I pass by St. John's Cemetery and shoot a wayward glance.
Ominous rows of tombstones bewitch me in a trance...
I see them: people resting, strangers from our world
in peace together side by side, in death a bond unfurls.
I picture souls of children who died before their time
from some forsaken circumstance, severing ties that bind;
Bind them to their bodies, their families and lives
only to contract melanoma at tender age of five.
Are these children angry? Will they come after me?
As here I stand upright and tall, full grown and healthy?
Do ghosts even exist? Can I ever be sure?
This hallowed ground, crowded yet empty, contaminated yet pure.
There's no way I can know for sure what lurks behind those gates,
but all these thoughts fill me with panic...I'm through with tempting fate.
My walk turns brisk and rapid, I shift my pace to run.
My run leads to a sprint, I pray the ghosts don't come...
My sprint gives to a dash, my feet can't find their grip
In darkness I am blinded, on a fallen branch I trip.