In the blindness of night
where laughter dies
and shadows bring fright
I shiver beneath the willow’s sigh.
Every footprint, every sound
plays a dirge across my skin
until fear is a thread wound
on the thumb of a devil’s whim.
Dead roses cackle among thorns
of secrets, lies, and weak limbs,
taunting my spirit that mourns
a vibrant life turned so grim.
I thought freedom was your grave
where tears dry and life ends,
yet I walk among the dead wearying brave
with a heart that beats but never mends.
Sometimes I am terrified
how my dreams bleed my heart
into a moon battered cup,
and then breaks my bones into their will.
©Susie Clevenger 2017
Celebrating Edgar Allan Poe's Birthday!Thank you dear Poe for being the reason I write poetry.