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Poem
I am perched in a dark and damp castle, clouded by the putrid scent of death.  Even 
the floors know of death, for they are basking in blood like the bottom of a sea basks 
in water.   I know not if I’m a victim of this castles horror or a phantom bound to a 
place worse than hell.   So I roam these halls in search of an answer to what or who I 
am.  As I float, I spot a hall full of mirrors, in spectacular frames of black.  I fly in closer 
to one of these mirrors.  Hoping to see the visage of a pale man, but all I see myself 
as, is a white bird.  I pay this no heed, I simply fly in order to see what awaits me in the 
next halls, but as I pass each mirror I can see the shadows of hands creeping behind 
me and twisting into each mirror.  I look back but nothing is there, so I fly faster to 
escape these hands that linger to clutch me.  As I do, the hands progress with the 
same speed that I progress with.   I dare not look back once more for I know that 
these things that chase me are real, as real as the wind that blows on my feathers and 
as real as the scream that escapes my beak.  I venture into another hall where I notice 
a weighty woman with a beautiful and innocence face. She is dressed in white holding a 
resonance mirror on her left hand, and a hand fan on the other.  The hands that 
sought so desperately to grasp me are now crawling up on her dress, coming out of 
the walls and floors.   I fly by her shoulders hoping that this bird will tell her of the 
frightening secrets that crawl up beneath her feet, but as I do I notice that her true 
reflection in the mirror that she holds, and it is the reflection of death.  Her hand rapidly 
drops the fan and clutches me along with the shadows; I try to break free as the mask 
that she so paraded around with, starts to deteriorate.   She moves in closer and 
whispers something in my ears: “A knight sought to free his maiden from the clutches 
of evil, but little did he know that his maiden was the evil, he sought to defeat.”   The 
only thing that came to mind was to whisper “it’s true at what man say, of how angels 
fall prey to a succubus’s magic”.    The dream simply vanishes as my mother’s hand 
shakes me into reality.  She says to me “what is wrong, what are you shouting verses 
for into the night”.  I asked her what was I shouting, and she replied you were crying “I 
succumb to a succubus’s will for my desires are like an open chamber waiting to be 
robbed”.
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