It
Its shadow whispers to us from the dank caverns of
our most frightening nightmare, having followed us since our birth.
Though it often approaches by way of our own folly,
it can also come to us, surprisingly, by mere happenstance!
Like bats' wings, it flutters madly when stalking the sickly.
Its horrible screams are wafting on ill winds of calamity.
Where mud, soot, and blood daub the faces of innocents,
its stench is at its most deplorable; oh, the horror!
I pray when it captures me, it will be swift -
that perchance - I will be taken whilst happily I dream.
Jan. 22, 2019 for Lu Loo's 10 Lines 10 Words, Free Verse 1 Poetry Contest
Theme #3: Death
Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2019
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