The Dead Game by Susanne Leist
Monday, November 7, 2016
WHO SITS THERE?
Who sits there in the darkness?
No movement in the blackness.
As still as a fox waiting to pounce.
No hint of a ruffle or a flounce.
A soft sigh can be heard in the air.
Are those slithering snakes in her hair?
Shadows coast along with the circling dust.
The walls trickle with blood or maybe rust.
The ghostly form stands up to meet us.
She can be the hostess to greet us.
A deserted house this seems to be.
She hovers over us like a tree.
We stand alone in this bleak hall.
There won’t be dancing at this ball.
All the candles go dark.
This was a silly lark.
Time to leave this creepy place.
We must quicken our slow pace.
But since this is a horror story.
We won’t be leaving soon with glory.
THE DEAD GAME
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