by Martin Shone
Terror and fright
creatures of the night.
Nightfall waits for this albino of death
who slumbers without a living breath
her white skin and bone
glow in the darkness like foam
while she waits for one
to feed upon.
Her stone cold tomb
she calls her home.
Within the Darkness.
Homeward you will with the wind dead still,
but the darkness frees the breath of the trees
that sway and roll and wake with a howl
the lady that lies with bloodless eyes.
Wooden fingers creak
in the forest of bleak.
Stirring, in the Darkness.
Bleakly you tread as the cold hand of dread
creeps along your skin as the castle of ruin
appears on your left with the moon doing its best
to break through the shroud of darkness and cloud.
Step up your pace
she’ll give you a race.
Wild whisperings, in the Darkness.
Racing along with the wind in your hair
she swoops and she dives without a care
this way and that way you dodge and you duck
she’s on your tail she’s catching you up
run for your life while there’s blood in your veins
or she’ll have you and kiss you and drive you insane.
In the Darkness.