I saw its hand reach out to me.
In the dark it nightly watched,
Stalking my soul as a decree.
No choice: it had to have me.
Closer and closer it notched.
Its’ ghastly hand found once,
A place upon my shoulder cold.
Why is this only what it hunts?
My eyes cared only of confronts,
So they turned back to behold.
O’ what a hideous game to play,
There I saw nothing but black,
And a dim-hand far away.
O’ to offer…then steal away,
And accentuate the lack.
I painfully motioned hand outward,
To grant forth what I thought it sought.
How could I know this was absurd?
To know what this could have spurred?
It joined my hand not.
I stumbled to move in near.
Bones broke and blood teared down,
But no longer did I fear!
Then it…o yes…did disappear,
And I was left to drown.
Death is a demons’ jester-pawn.
Walking our eyes upon its’ path.
All made and held swiftly gone,
In pursuit of this path it’s on.
To fall, then arise, a living blood-bath.
And death: vast years away,
Laughs the empty hours away.
K. Aldaya, 8/14/05
Picture: “Scary Shadow” by krowngraphics; http://krowngraphics.webs.com/apps/photos/photo?photoid=43873623