Saturday, December 31, 2016

THE MIST







THE MIST
The mist follows close at my heels,
Relentless in its pursuit of me.
Tall trees block my escape from this forest,
Trapping the sunlight amidst their leaves.
A trap waits for me at every turn,
Poison ivy and open holes among the lot.
I refuse to be trapped by the evil one,
The one who desires me most of all.
I will break free from his unearthly grasp,
His icy grip clutching me too close.
He might be the leader of The Dead,
But he will never be my mate for life.
I must make a run for it now,
For any later will be too late.
THE DEAD GAME