The Hearse
A foul breath of misty, cold, damp air
brushed across my cheek, caressing hair;
then, unhurriedly, around neckline
while slinking languidly down my spine,
which shivered at that, and eerie sound;
of a four-beat rhythm; shod hooves on ground.
Unearthly screams from deep dark shadows;
the murderous caws of old black crows
disturbed by a corpse in passing hearse.
I held a button and voiced a verse
as it passed me by; alas, in vain,
I spied my face in its windowpane.
Deathly wind drafts in the hearse's wake
ravaged through my flesh - and soul did take.
Something Spooky 8 to 16 lines Poetry Contest, placed 1st.
Sponsored by: Tania Kitchin
Date wrote: 05-October-2021
Copyright © Terry Miller | Year Posted 2021
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