Hidden

Hiding in the trees.

Where are you?

calls out One who already knows everything.

Your breath slows, chokes in your throat.

He’s smirking?

Where are you?

He’s enjoying the game.

Enjoying the heartbeat He must know

is knocking against your ribs-

as your terror convulses into purity-

as He comes near.

But then He veers off.

Perfect fear can cast out everything

whether its piss or hope  that holds you back.  And

your newly clean mind understands.

He’ll keep coming closer

circling,

At last He’ll let himself find you and stare down, gloating,

as you crescendo

and then He’ll begin.

 

As if the sky were made of giants

walking

through the deep blue sea-

 

Your limbs move-

soft as ropes of clay-

and you stumble out ot the brambles .

 

The game is over

and He hasn’t won.

 

 

 

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