The Figure
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The Figure
The day ends
in a long drawn out sigh
as if done with the heat,
folding into the evening
to soothe where sunburn
has peeled back life
to a hurt.
The dry earth waits
for a few drops
of dew to fall
from trees.
Flying overhead
the dark silhouettes
of fruit bats
give a menace
to the skies,
they seem like angels
fleeing from hell.
This is the time
he emerges
from the shadows,
his course close to walls
as if trying to avoid
open ground.
Some have almost caught
a glimpse of his face
when rounding a corner,
head down, intent
to look away
and avoid a stare.
He appears featureless.
And yet all know him,
his shape filling
a familiar space
reserved for fear.
If you call out
he will never
answer but just
retreat further
into the night, deeper
into your mind.
Copyright © Paul Willason | Year Posted 2024
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