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Scared To Death
The grass is standing still…
Still remains the tall windmill…
As if awaiting something…
In me, fear is beginning to fill…
Down my feet flutter with a chewing chill…
As I walk towards the hill
It is late after dusk,
I espy the clouds as a face and a tusk…
And as I am standing, I smell violet and musk,
In the chilling air, about to kill…
My destination is that hut on the hill,
And dicey is the journey I am deliberating…
The mystery and the eeriness,
Of this macabre strange place,
And my loneliness,
And in the hut, nay a lantern or a blaze,
Hath eaten me alive on my way…
I am trembling,
Watching the clouds sometimes,
And looking behind most of the times…
All I hear is dry leaves rustling…
Nay a soul in my way…
I should turn back, I feel…
As I cannot stand this thrill…
I am really scared…
As I don’t know what’s next in my way…
