THE STRANGER

 

THE STRANGER

Quiet envelopes her senses so fine

she stares at the wall sipping on wine

darkness invades her private domain

like a burglar attacking but in vain

the clock slowly ticks its way through the day

she’s not quite sure if it was in May

Reminders of images dance in the dust

but it turns to redness, starts to rust

the image swells and begins to burst

shattering slivers of memories, such thirst

she cringes and shivers, closing her eyes

clenching her hands, and iron fist vise

He walks towards her a tall figure standing

the laughter erupts, he is a dandy

his eyes so blue could not be denied

she tries desperately to try and hide

“Oh no my sweet bird, you will not flee,

for you are for me now, don’t you see?”

“Come take my hand and we will fly

across the lands so free so high!”

She backs into thickness so hard and strong

a wall of flesh, resisting growing taut

“Now don’t fight the feelings, they must be abided,

come now or be smothered the choice is decided.”

She runs to the door expressing her terror

he won’t go away, look he’s now in the mirror

she grabs her brush, pulls back and explodes

the image is broken, but still it holds

his face is demented, a crack here and there

but still he smiles and says, “There, there.”

The room it grows darker with each passing second

he is an intruder, she looks for a weapon

“Now don’t be foolish, come here this moment!”

he reaches towards her and slowly she collapes

“Now you see you cannot win dear,

for I am immortal my subjects masses.”

She whispers a plea left unsaid in the night

and in the last moment she ceases to fight

she glides towards him a shimmering light

and taking his arm, strolls off into the night

“All will be well now don’t you worry

for all of your pain will now be unburdened.”

he laughs quite lively and taking her arm

swings her around, a song ever charming

“She is quite young as you can see.”

the detective whispers a prayer, bless thee

the blanket it folds slowly over her form

for she was a lover not used to conform

he takes the instrument that played it’s last game

its sharp edge shining, its work done, no blame.