The Music Box
The melodic tinkle of the music box moved her.
She arose with her pretty tresses and floor length silk
toward the shadows that possess treasures of death.
Like a grandfather clock with metal prongs and teeth
it plays a lovely song that draws the gothic lass
into the abyss. Her temporal time harnessed
by a young girl’s dreamy track, “dum, dum, dum,
da, da, da, dum, dum…” In reminiscent fog
of childhood, Cassandra moves with the innocence
of a toddler, with the outward aplomb of a zombie.
When, at last, she is in the spiderweb, her senses
come around. She still can’t flee and the shadow
becomes a man, a thing, unthinkable - she recognizes
his hypnotic countenance, his eyes an unimaginable blue,
his face paler than a ghostly child, his cape - a shroud
about his shoulders. He hums, “dum, dum, dum,
da, da, da, dum, dum…” A guttural scream, she
recognizes vibrates from her own lips. The monster
allows the chase and caterwaul within his space.
Melancholy and madness, take hold, as her neck is bared
and she becomes one of the undead. Only released
from the melody’s hold, when she she sinks her teeth
into an innocent victim, but alas, she also is reminded
of her past life, so cold, she weeps. The progenitor laughs.
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