He walks in the night,
Ready for a fight.
No one comes near.
Most out of fear.
I won’t walk his way.
By the tree, I’ll stay
Until he’s gone from sight.
Only then I’ll take flight.
He comes in the night for me.
He is much too strong for me.
His beauty I can only see.
His evil is hidden from me.
I do not see his grotesque face.
Only his mask he puts in place.
Take me with you now in the night.
To me you’re a beautiful sight.
He lifts me high into the air.
And whisks me away to his lair.
The Dead Game by Susanne Leist
A shadow appears.
Dark as the night.
An opening hole.
Of death and despair.
The grass trembles.
Flattened by its footsteps.
Beneath its terrible burden.
But it’s too late.
But I’m not.
Darkness brings a pall to the streets.
A dread that can be felt by all.
It follows me with soft footsteps.
Growing closer behind me with each step.
The stores are closed and shuttered.
Night has fallen too quickly this day.
Has everyone else gone to hide?
Leaving me to fend off the encroaching dusk.
I should have listened to my heart’s song.
Listened to reason and right from wrong.
I’m now trapped in this horror of despair.
Waiting for death to take me in his arms.
The shadows are growing larger.
Surrounding me from all sides.
There’s no where to run or hide.
I will stand strong against the tide.
I can feel him.
He’s come back for me.
No one is safe from his wrath.
The coldness wraps around me.
My hair drips icicles down my neck.
I shiver in dread of my future.
My future as queen of The Dead.
THE DEAD GAME
A tower slim and tall.
What evil might befall?
I could now climb up there.
Without a thought or care.
It’s narrow and dark inside.
And nowhere at all to hide.
The windows let in some light.
But not much up to this height.
I’ve finally reached the top room.
I feel like I’m about to swoon.
I climbed the steep stairs much too fast.
I’m happy I’ve left this to last.
White dust covers the floor.
There seems to be much more.
Skulls and bones are in the middle.
I’m now in a pretty pickle.
If I don’t leave here fast.
I’ll be part of the past.
A shadow rises in the room.
The end has come for me too soon.