I see a shadow skulking near
An Unholy presence one to fear
My nightmare comes to life.
Its form a twisted inhuman shape
I imagine fangs upon my nape
Talons scoring my skin.
Can I withstand a sneak attack?
Will I end a bloody snack?
Or will I escape?
Unable to meet Its steely glare
Praying to escape Its snare
And make it home alive.
My heart trips an erratic beat
The leaves rustling at my feet
The wind whipping my hair.
The mellow glow of my porch light
I thank the Angels home’s in sight
Salvation near at hand.
I grasp the latch, yet, hesitate
I ask myself, why do I wait?
Perhaps I dig my grave.
I gulp my fear and sneak a glance
Is this fate, or happenstance?
Slowly… I… turn… and…
Old School Italian
Born to Write
"We make bitter better."
Irish History, Culture, Heritage, Language, Mythology
spare the crazy vocabulary, speak from your heart
Poetry, Prose, Photography
by Lize Bard
Natalie. Writer. Photographer. Etc.
Exploring land recently released by ice (geologically speaking)