Your Name
It has you walking home
from school, past that house
where the front room curtains
moved yet revealed no face behind
only the trace of a shadow
stepping back into your mind -
the sound of footsteps that followed
and stopped when your feet
froze to the ground and,
on looking around, no-one
was there
and now,
stepping through time,
that dull echo on empty streets
late at night when far from home
and sleep, you get
a sense that someone
is still following,
so near now
you can almost hear
those icy lips whispering
your name.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2023
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