Shadow People
©21-DEC-18, Olan L. Smith
She feels its breath as it creeps through the halls of death.
A mere shadow, disembodiment against a wall,
People of the Crevice, call its type. Ungodly souls
Walk this earth unaware, of themselves.
She senses its presence too late;
Now, two exist both aware of the other.
A glimpse is all she sees as he creeps
Into her spine from tail to crown, a snake entwines.
She feels warmth and shivers. The heat
Desires for her to disrobe and takes her
from inside, pounding her to break
The barriers between realms; it desires to be her.
"What dares break from tradition to enter me?" She asked.
"This is not your realm," she exclaims. "What
Sort of pursuer are you? I've sensed you once upon
A dark mooned night. Come to enjoy me?
I will curse your realm, creature! And all realms who
Keep your presence a secret in the light."
YOU ARE READING
Poems from the Quill, by Olan L. Smith
Poetry"Poems from the Quill" is where I place current works that don't fall into other collections. It is here you will find obscure poems that range from constraint to free-verse. I began this collection as a contest entry, years ago, for what was then t...
