Thursday, January 3, 2019


The mist follows close at my heels,
Relentless in its pursuit.
Roots poke through the ground.
Tree limbs grab at me.
The fog clears.
The forest ends.
I’ve reached the clearing.
He waits for me.
A black stallion is his ride.
I grab his extended arm.
He lifts me behind him.
We ride like the wind.
I sigh and turn my head.
A scream is lodged in my throat.
His face isn’t of my loved one
but a mask of death.
We ride like the wind
to the ends of the earth.
Hell’s gates shut behind us.
No one is knocking on its doors.

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