The Black Figure

A black figure is there, Leaning against the wall, Grinning, gnawing on my soul It looks familiar, yet I know it not. It rises every morning like a nightmarish phantom Follows me everywhere, always He steps into darkest corners of my mind Treading on my memories Branding its bitter mark upon every spot Clearing its throat, starting to murmur That terrible song, that horrible theme: “Oh thou glorious creature! Where thou shall flee?” To stars? I will be the night. To the depth of sea? I will be the whirlpool To Sun? I will be the clouds. To jungle? I will be the vulture To desert? I will be the scorpion His venomous roaring laughter Delves into every vein Crushes every cell Breaks every joint The black figure is there Leaning against the wall, Grinning, gnawing on my soul And I Desperately wait for the moment When it crawls forward To entangle my limbs In its crooked palms But is there a black figure?