Unrest
Footsteps where they should not be.
Is this, in fact, insanity?
Or might it be reality?
She to whom I gave my vow,
often spurned my bed with a scowl,
then to the taverns she would prowl.
I sought her out to make a stand,
but found her with another man.
I returned home with another plan.
When she returned for her purse,
I greeted her with knife and curse.
To her rest she rode a hearse.
Now through the window in the gloom,
I see a shadow from the tomb.
I fear it lusts for my doom.
I hear the creaking of the door,
then a shuffling 'cross the floor.
Soon, I think, I'll hear no more.
Footsteps where they should not be.
Is this, in fact, insanity?
I pray, it is not....
reality.
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