a cork board


Day 13 / Poem 13 – NaPoWriMo
AMpWed, 18 Apr 2012 00:07:05 +000007Wednesday 1, 2010, 12:07 am
Filed under: poems | Tags: , , ,

The Moment is Strikes

 

When silence settles over the woods,

and the luminescence of the moon

dances through branches,

there is a fear that grips you.

 

When the rustling of leaves

echoes from tree stump to tree stump

and travels from one ear canal to the other,

there is a paranoia that takes over.

 

When you’ve seen one too many horror movies

and your calculations add up to your certain demise,

you might find yourself running from your own shadow.

Frantically dodging trees while the amplified

sound of your heartbeat thumping

throughout your entire body races

your adrenaline into a fever-pitch.

 

A squirrel skitters across a branch

and the scurrying of his feet sound

like claws of hungry wolves

coming for you.

 

Civilization is just on the horizon

when you see a neighborhood

with windows glowing artificial light

and gracious streetlamps with their arms

stretched out like saviors.

 

The danger level escalates

as you begin to look over your shoulder

every 3 seconds and the sidewalk is coming closer.

 

It’s almost midnight

and the idea of teeth dripping in saliva

longing to tear at your flesh

has you picking up speed.

10 more strides,

you scrape your face on an unsuspecting tree.

5 more strides,

you stumble and slice your hand open on glass.

2 more strides,

you are holding your breath at this point.

 

You arrive at your sanctuary of a sidewalk,

out of breath with your hands on your knees

panting as if you’d just escaped certain death.

Your head swivels from left to right,

right to left and back again,

as you peer into the wood.

 

The moonlight cascades

straight through the winter branches

and across the bed of dead leaves.

 

The forest is empty.

The houses are quiet.

The night is still, except for you,

running for your life

from shadows and your own devices.

 

You pick up pace quickly towards home,

with blood dripping down our hand,

hoping nobody saw your pathetic display of unwarranted fear.

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