The Bogeyman

Dark
midnight fast
no light
no stars
eyes strain
ears
shhhhhhhhhh.
Frost laden fronds
crackle beneath
stop
listen
is that
was that
why are
fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!
Spin around in circles
breath plumes
hanging
crystalline
in frigid air.
Skeletal birch
rising brittle stalks to sky
stark white
upon field of deceit.
Crouch down
feral
eyes dart
gasping
scared
nowhere to hide
to run
maybe
play dead
and it will creep by.
Have you ever been touched by terror?
Feel
darkness sinking deeper
reaching out
inky
menace
slight
unseen
cloaking
settling
worming through
up spine
down arms
toes curling
hold your breath
crouch down
pray
it will not scent you.
Dark talons
scroll over broken body
sinking in
head back
howling
lost to it
innocent soul
who brokered own loss.
©Oct. 27/20
Picture via Pinterest

Tempt not the Reaper

A tale told
round a burning fire
of times when the Reaper
walked amongst men and fields.
He silently stalked
men of daring do
walking on the wild side
never a fear.
Men who played the blades
with more lives than a cat
always landing on their feet;
it was them he hated
as they slipped through his grasp.
Each danced with a sword
while the Reaper stood near
his scythe held ready
his hourglass turned.
He waited for one to die.
The next.
The next.
Tempt not the Reaper 
for a calling he will come
at a time most unseen
and the one that last run
will finally be freed. 
©Jay-lyn Doerksen
June 2/18