Dark Wood

Ink lings

I know better then to be hereDark Wood
I’ve been told
Things happen here
Bad things

Yet I am drawn
No.  More like willed
I have not the power to resist
I cannot

I smell the decay
The cloying stench
Of rotting, fallen trees
Lying as if in wait

My tread but a whimper
Nothing lives here
Why am I here?
What do I seek?

The dark wood thickens as I move
Unsteady now, steps made with trepidation
I sense movement, I’m not alone
Something sinister is watching

Hollow whispers. Jumbled sounds.
Seem to move closer
Dare not look back
Fear grips me. Constricts my throat

A light.  Did I see a light
Through the dark wood
I feel it. The stale breath of death
Terror overtakes me.  I cannot breath

It is too late, I did not listen
The light. Brighter. Closer now
Playing with me in the dark wood

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About oldmainer

I am retired and live in southern Maine with my wife and two dogs. I started Oldmainer .wordpress.com as an outlet for my occasional opinions and random observations, with some poetry thrown in. I welcome anyone that wants to kick back and join me here on the porch, exploring all the gifts we have been given and the memories collected. Thanks for stopping by.
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